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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426422">Looking in the Mirror(ball Trophy)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyAvocado/pseuds/AnxietyAvocado'>AnxietyAvocado</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Language, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Reality TV, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Social Media, like super super slow burn okay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:16:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>71,464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyAvocado/pseuds/AnxietyAvocado</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s why you’re not retiring,” Phichit explains, sounding suspiciously like he does when he helps teach the Teddy Bear skating program. It’s the same tone as Phichit explaining social media to Yuuri for the umpteenth time, but that’s neither here nor there for the moment. </p><p>Shit. Yuuri really should have been paying attention. “So if I’m not retiring, what did I just agree to then?”</p><p>-------------</p><p>the Dancing With the Stars story no one asked for but I desperately need</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katsuki Yuuri &amp; Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont &amp; Katsuki Yuuri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>maazeesfavs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I promise nothing except for shenanigans and plenty of ballet stretches in leggings.</p><p>All of the other competitors mentioned for this season of Dancing With The Stars have actually competed on the show, and when possible I will link to their dances! However, because they are from multiple seasons, their professional dance partners may not be the same as in the actual show.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="chapter">
  <p></p>
  <div class="userstuff module">
    <p>“I think I’m going to retire.” Yuuri doesn’t really speak to anyone in particular. </p>
    <p>He might as well be talking to the ceiling, since he’s all alone. Okay, mostly alone. Not actually alone, even though it feels like it after all the things he’s fucked up in the last few months. (“Stop being such a drama queen,” is the first thought that comes to mind - and it sounds an awful lot like Minako) </p>
    <p>Yuuri is, of course, not alone - no matter how much his anxious brain wants to convince him otherwise. He’s got Phichit like always. Well, Phichit and his hamsters. Yuuri was sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, still recovering a month after the disaster at Sochi. At first, his disgraceful performance had been vivid, burned into his eyelids. It was too bright, too much, and the feelings threatened to overwhelm him in the wake of Vicchan’s death, the worst performances of his life to date, and being yelled at by a very small, very angry skater in a public restroom while sobbing. And he couldn’t forget the gigantic snot bubble that had been attached to his nostril when that had happened. Those images had only been dulled by the horrific hangover the morning after the banquet, which was both a blessing and a curse.</p>
    <p>At first he thought he would go home. He would apologize to Celestino, say goodbye to his rink and his roommate and his furry step-children, and go crawling home in shame, probably to work at the onsen for the rest of his life. He would never skate again, and take over with Mari when his parents retired, babysit the triplets, and eat as much katsudon as he wanted - after all, the rule about winning didn’t count if you weren’t going to compete anymore. </p>
    <p>From his bed across the room, Phichit snorted. “Or you could not and say you did.”</p>
    <p><em>That doesn’t even make sense </em>, and Yuuri tells him so. Even after years of living in Detroit, the things Americans come up with just don’t make sense. </p>
    <p>Nonsense or not, Yuuri considers what Phichit means. He loves skating. It’s magic and music and flying over ice like you don’t weigh anything at all, but it’s also pain and exhaustion and anxiety and depression and so many things that he’s tired of fighting. As a skater who isn’t naturally gifted like most of the Russian team (he will not think that name he will <em>not </em>, not after what happened at Sochi) or Christophe or naturally entertaining like Phichit and Emil - Yuuri has to fight and claw his way for every inch of progress up that mountain, and he’s so <em>tired </em>. </p>
    <p>His train of thought is interrupted by the realization that Phichit is still talking, and Yuuri catches up to him mid sentence. “-on it. Blanche, Dorothy, Rose, what are your votes?” A moment of silence while he conferred with the hamsters. “They all think you should do it.”</p>
    <p>“Really?” It shouldn’t surprise Yuuri that Phichit is being so supportive - he’s his best friend, after all. And while he’ll miss skating together, at least he’ll leave on good terms. </p>
    <p>“Of course you should! You need a break from skating and this is the perfect chance! Plus, we can go to L.A. and see Leo!”</p>
    <p>Rolling onto his stomach, Yuuri picked up his head and looked at Phichit in confusion. “What do you mean L.A.? Phichit, if I retire I’m going back home to Hasetsu. I won’t stay here.”</p>
    <p>“That’s why you’re not retiring,” Phichit explains, sounding suspiciously like he does when he helps teach the Teddy Bear skating program. It’s the same tone as Phichit explaining social media to Yuuri for the umpteenth time, but that’s neither here nor there for the moment. </p>
    <p><em>Shit </em>. Yuuri really should have been paying attention. “So if I’m not retiring, what did I just agree to then?”</p>
    <p>Phichit scrambled to sit up and face Yuuri with the kind of grin that meant trouble (and usually a hundred burpees from Celestino the next day), the hamsters poking out of the hood of his sweatshirt. “You, my friend, are going on Dancing With The Stars.”</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="chapter">
  <hr/>
  <p></p>
  <div class="userstuff module">
    <p>Phichit loves his best friend - he really does. Yuuri is a great guy, a fantastic skater, and happily goes along with whatever insane plan Phichit comes up with. </p>
    <p>The last part is mostly a lie. Most of the time, Phichit takes advantage of the fact that his best friend is actually a space cadet, and rambles on about his plan while Yuuri isn’t paying attention, and then gets him to agree before he knows what he’s actually getting into. </p>
    <p>As much as Yuuri might bitch about this, he (almost) never regrets it later. (They only regret it when Ciao Ciao finds out about it and then makes them pay for it at the gym the next day)</p>
    <p>All of those facts, plus watching said best friend bomb in Sochi, plus the envelope that had arrived while said bombing was happening, have added up to what could possibly be Phichit’s best scheme to date. </p>
    <p>He is going to convince his best friend to go on Dancing With the Stars, have the time of his life, get to stay in L.A. for a while, hang out with Leo, rub elbows with some sports legends, <em>and </em>convince Yuuri that he isn’t actually going to retire from skating and that he really is a badass. </p>
    <p>Phichit hadn’t even shared the best part with Yuuri - mostly because he knew he couldn’t without having to deal with Catatonic From Feels Yuuri afterwards. Using his extensive social media connections, Phichit had stumbled on a true gem in the world of skating gossip. </p>
    <p>
      <em>Viktor Nikiforov, focus of both Yuuri’s locker room and closet shrines, was going to be taking a break from skating to consider his career options, and had agreed to go on Dancing With the Stars to increase his exposure to American audiences. </em>
    </p>
    <p>Phichit had never been more thankful that Yuuri wasn’t on social media than the day he found that out. </p>
    <p>Yuuri was going to lose his absolute shit when that news went public. And that was exactly why he couldn’t find out until… Honestly, probably until they were already at the hotel. Or maybe until he showed up at the studio for the first filming. </p>
    <p>After sharing the non-Viktor related parts of his master plan with Yuuri (“C’mon, we haven’t seen Leo since Skate Canada! We can finally hang out with him without JJ around. Besides, they have <em>In and Out. We have to go eat In and Out Yuuri. </em>”), Phichit handed him the letter from the ABC Studios casting office thanking him for joining the show and ignored Yuuri’s freak out about forging signatures.  </p>
    <p>“All that’s left for you to do is pick a charity that the money goes toward if you win,” he said firmly, handing Yuuri a pen. Yuuri opened his mouth in protest, but was cut off when Phichit continued. “And don’t give me any of that crap about you not winning. Everyone is going to get something this season, and you have to pick what charity you want your winnings donated to.”</p>
    <p>Knowing when to admit defeat in the face of Phichit’s determination was another quality he admired about his friend. Taking the pen in defeat, Yuuri wrote down the name of a dog shelter that the pair of them had volunteered at during their off-season for the last few years. </p>
    <p>Yes, Phichit reflected, this was exactly why he loved his best friend. He crumpled like wet paper in the face of helping dogs and his best friend’s plans. And when those two things were the same… Yuuri Katsuki didn’t stand a chance.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="chapter preface group">
    <p></p>
    <div class="end notes module">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="chapter">
  <p></p>
  <div class="userstuff module">
    <hr/>
    <p>Instagram exploded while Yuuri was at the rink three days later. </p>
    <p>He wasn’t really practicing anything - after all, if he didn’t come back to skating there was nothing to practice for. No, he was just there to clear his head, and had been skating figures with his earbuds in for longer than he cared to think about, occasionally throwing in a salchow, an Ina Bauer, or whatever else felt good at the moment.  Ever since they had faxed in that paperwork from Celestino’s office, Yuuri had been filled with a nervous energy that he couldn’t burn off no matter what he did. Hours at the gym, sleepless nights at the rink, runs that usually pushed him past his limits… Nothing worked. </p>
    <p>It would take an act of God to get Yuuri to admit it out loud, but he was actually excited for the show. That didn’t mean he wasn’t working himself up into a panic about it every other hour of the day - even if he felt more of a natural as a dancer than a skater, he knew he was far from the best out there. Who else would he be competing against? Before Phichit had taken his phone away the night before, Yuuri had gone down a wikipedia spiral, making inhuman noises of terror whenever he found another list of past competitors. Pop stars! They had <em>Zendaya </em>for crying out loud! There were people who were dancers for at least some part of their actual career that they made money from! How could he possibly compete against someone like that? (He, of course, ignored Phichit’s retort of “Yuuri, you big anxious dork, <em>you make a living dancing. On ice. On blades. You are dancing on a slippery surface on knife shoes. You. Will. Be. Fine.” </em>)</p>
    <p>Just as he was re-starting his playlist for the fourth (fifth?) time, Alyssa - one of the rink’s Junior competitors - skated up to him with tears in her eyes, practically bouncing out of her skates. </p>
    <p>Skidding to a stop, Yuuri ripped out his headphones, music quickly replaced with the girl’s excited babbling. </p>
    <p>“Oh my GOD,” she squealed. “Yuuri I can’t believe it! I can’t wait to watch you on TV ohmygod <em>ohmygod </em>I’m going to have skated with a TV star! And you get to- Oh Jesus, I can’t even. You get to dance with <em>her. </em>And you get to compete against- God, it’s just too much. It’s too much!”</p>
    <p>Yuuri stood in front of her, dumbfounded. Had Phichit told someone? He had sworn his best friend to secrecy - a futile promise given his social media presence - but he was pretty sure that Phichit wouldn’t have talked about this until they had everything finalized. </p>
    <p>“Whaaa?” Was that a word? It was supposed to be a word. It was as close to a word as Yuuri could manage in the moment. </p>
    <p>Alyssa’s apparent bullet train of thought screeched to a halt as she stared at Yuuri with wide eyes. “Dancing With the Stars? They just announced who’s going to be on the next season on Instagram! Why didn’t you tell anyone you were going to be doing that? We’re going ot have to have watch parties here. Maybe Jamie can organize them? I’ll have to ask her…”</p>
    <p>Well, there was his answer then. </p>
    <p>“Can I see your phone?” he asked weakly. </p>
    <p>She handed it over and he tapped the video to play the whole thing through IGTV. </p>
    <p>Dramatic music played as stage lights illuminated the words on the screen. </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        <strong>THE BALLROOM</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>HAS</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>NEVER</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>BEEN</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>HOTTER</strong>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p> </p>
    <p>A montage of clips showed athletes of all disciplines. As they flashed and faded on the screen, Yuuri thought he saw a swimmer, a soccer player, a gymnast… and was that a basketball player? There were at least two different figure skaters, but all the clip showed was their feet as they executed jumps and step sequences. </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        <strong>THE </strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>COMPETITION</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>JUST</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>GOT</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>BETTER</strong>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p> </p>
    <p>The video was broken up by shots of the professional dancers. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice that almost all of the men were showing quite a bit of skin - he wasn’t going to have to dance with an open shirt too, was he? Oh <em>god </em>, that was the last thing he needed. He could hardly process the idea before names started to flash across the screen. </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        <strong>YAMAGUCHI</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>JOHNSON</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>DREXTER</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>SMITH</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>SOLO</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>KATSUKI</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>NAVRATILOVA</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>JONES</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>ESPINOSA</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>VAN ZANT</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>LOCHTE</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>BILES</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>HINCHCLIFF</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>COUGHLIN</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>and </strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <strong>NIKIFOROV</strong>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p> </p>
    <p>No. Oh no, no, nope, no, absolutely not. Yuuri’s eyes widened in horror as the name faded from the screen - though he was sure it would be burned into his eyelids - as it was replaced by the text</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        <strong>SEPTEMBER CAN’T GET HERE SOON ENOUGH</strong>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p> </p>
    <p>Was he dreaming? He was definitely dreaming. There was no way that this would be happening to Yuuri in real life. Looking down, he checked that he actually had clothes on and this wasn’t a nightmare where he showed up to the rink naked. Nope, there were his clothes. And his skates. His knees wobbled, and the last thing Yuuri remembered was mumbling something to Alyssa about needing to sit down and handing her the phone back before he collapsed on the ice in a heap.</p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The world was blurry when he woke up, but it usually was, so that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part is the hair tickling his nose. On instinct, he scrunched his features together to try and avoid whatever was causing it, and Yuuri could swear that he heard Phichit laughing nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give him some space Ciao Ciao! If you lean any closer he’s going to inhale your hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri groaned. What the hell . “‘mgonnamehrderyoohhgh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plan to murder his roommate solidified with every camera click. Even though Celestino kept trying to usher Phichit out of the room, he either wasn’t trying very hard or Phichit had handcuffed himself to the bench in the locker room. (It’s probably the first one, even if he doesn’t put it past Phichit to own handcuffs and carry them around with him.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, though, things became a little clearer - and more so with his glasses on - and Yuuri remembered with horrifying clarity what had happened, which only made him want to pass out all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling off his glasses and pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Yuuri groaned. “I passed out on the ice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Phichit supplied helpfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After seeing the lineup for Dancing With The Stars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Viktor Nikiforov is going to be on the show,” they said in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shot up and shoved his glasses back on his face before glaring at Phichit. “Wait a second. How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, Yuuri? Phichit’s facial expression is practically screaming at him. “Every time you pass out it’s either because you’re too hungry or something happened with Viktor. And you ate like, two bowls of oatmeal this morning. So don’t give me that. And also - it’s Instagram. Who do you think I am, Ciao Ciao?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mention of his name, their coach rolled his eyes. “Still here,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit waved his hands at him to try and shoo him away while grinning. “Yeah, yeah, we love you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The enormity of the situation hit Yuuri, and he crumpled over himself on the bench, folded in half under the weight of reality. “I can’t compete, Phichit. I can’t even skate on the same ice as him without fucking up my entire life - how can I dance on the same stage? It’s so much smaller. There won’t be enough room for his talent alone! And Yamaguchi? She’s like… an icon! A classic! And Lochte? I can’t dance anywhere near the ‘swim or porn’ meme guy! This is terrible. I have to back out. Can we call the studio?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only moved when he heard a choking sound that turned out to be Phichit laughing. “Dude, they just announced that you’re dancing to the entire internet. Of course you can’t back out now! But don’t worry - I’m not going home this break, I’m going to L.A. with you. Mark Ballas is mine .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri worried for the next four months. He worried in the ballet studio, on the rink, in their apartment, at the local college track - everywhere. He worried while he was cooking, and while he was making tea (and hoped he would never have to explain the scorched tea pot to his mother) and while he was in the shower (when he wasn’t thinking other thoughts about certain competitors in the shower). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worried when he got on the plane. He worried during the flight to L.A. with Phichit. He worried during the cab ride to their hotel, as they checked in, and even while they were sitting by the pool (there was plenty of evidence of that on Phichit’s Snapchat). He worried even though he didn’t see any of his competitors once, and hadn’t even met his dancing partner yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, he worried That Morning. The morning where he couldn’t avoid it anymore. He was going to see Viktor for the first time since December, and find out who he was dancing with, and even though planes usually put him to sleep he couldn’t help but stare out the window in mute terror on their way to New York, where the announcement would be made on live television. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was going to be fucking terrifying, he just knew it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm akitoes on tumblr, and violettdelights on twitter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>JFK Airport was </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. After the quiet of staring out a window for five fours on his red-eye flight, Yuuri wasn’t prepared for the level of noise that came from people being awake and talking around him, even if it wasn’t even 5:30 in the morning. He pulled his mask securely up onto his nose, and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the nervous clenching and unclenching of his fingers, shouldering his way through the crowd to try and make his way to a taxi.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could do anything though, he needed to feel more like a human and less like a zombie if he was going to survive being in close proximity to Viktor, thirteen other sports legends, professional dancers, and live television cameras. Just outside of his arrival gate was a La Brea Bakery - perfect. The line was short, and not long after he had spotted the sign, Yuuri stood outside the little entryway with a cup of what was supposed to be green tea and a coffee cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he stood there nursing his cup, his phone buzzed and the Hamtaro theme song sounded from his pocket - Phichit was texting him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>His Exalted Hamsterness: Hey, the studio office called me. We’ll talk about you giving them my phone number later. They sent the address. Texting it to you now. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>His Exalted Hamsterness: Times Square Studios. 1500 Broadway. They need you there soon so get your ass in a taxi!</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>His Exalted Hamsterness: Still can’t believe you refused a driver. Or a flight there. You have to fly back with everyone though, so have fun being on the same plane as Viiiccctooorrrr~~~~~</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>The message was followed by a series of kissy faces and hamster emoticons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Yuuri: Yes, MOM. Talk later. And stop changing your name in my phone.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri rolled his eyes, pocketed his phone, and made his way through the airport to the front where he could get a taxi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirty minutes later, he was deposited outside of Times Square Studios, where a crowd was already forming, jostling for the best place in front of the windows to get their fifteen seconds of fame on national television. Yuuri balked at the sight of so many people, but pulled on his mask’s ear straps, tugged his hood over his head, and tried to take up as little space as possible as he walked past them. New Yorkers (and mostly tourists, probably) were so obvious to the people around them that no one even noticed he was walking by, and Yuuri escaped into the building with a sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The assistant at the front desk didn’t seem to believe Yuuri when he gave her his name or why he was there. With a sigh, he took his Michigan ID out of his wallet, as well as his JSF membership ID card. Glancing suspiciously between the cards and then Yuuri, it took several long moments before she apparently decided that he wasn’t trying to fake his way on to a television set and led him through a maze of hallways to an open space where rows of makeup stations with mirrors surrounded by lights stood. Depositing him in one of the chairs, she took off down the hallway again, and Yuuri sat there in a daze, wondering what was about to happen to him - other than makeup of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice from outside of his line of sight made him jump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi! You must be one of our guests for today!” An impossibly perky girl with pink hair appeared at his side. Her hair was the brightest thing about her - she was wearing all black and seemed to blend into the shadows because of it, only her hair standing out like some kind of neon cartoon lightbulb. “I’m Bess. What segment are you here for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri stammered and stumbled his way through a few incoherent attempts at communication before he finally said, “Dancingwiththestars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bess raised an eyebrow at him. “Try again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dancing With The Stars,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His new pink-haired acquaintance perked up considerably at that. “No way! You’ve got to be one of the contestants. Alright, you tell me all about it while we get you ready to go on air okay? Do you have a decent shirt underneath that coat? I can borrow from the wardrobe department if we need to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without any more prompting, Bess pulled a large square case of makeup out from under the table and started pulling out more makeup than Yuuri had seen in his entire life - including Yuuko’s high school days. She pulled the coat off of him and hummed with approval at the shirt underneath - a long sleeved blue henley with a white t-shirt under it - before tucking tissues into the neck of his shirt and getting started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her conversation wove in and around everything else going on. To his relief, Yuuri didn’t actually have to do much talking. He filled in information about where he was training, when he had competed last, where he was from… Information that he was used to giving in interviews over the years. All the while, Bess applied foundation and powder with a speed and precision that made Yuuri jealous before moving on to adding color back into his cheeks and making sure that his eyes didn’t look awkward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was used to wearing at least a little makeup for competitions (a red nose from the cold was not a good look at the kiss and cry) but he had never done anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>this good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He looked… not airbrushed, or Photoshopped, but cleaner and clearer and just a little sharper than he normally did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bess,” he breathed. “Can I please hire you for… competitions? Life? Anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned at him. “Yuuri, sweetie, unless you win the next olympics, I don’t think you can afford me. Now, go check out craft services while you wait for your segment okay? I could hear your stomach growling over my headset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bess sent him off with a laugh, and Yuuri wandered through the backstage area, careful to avoid bumping into anyone until he found the table in question. There was hot water, cups, and bags of tea, and he latched on to his brewing cup of English Breakfast like it was a lifeline. Balancing on top of it was a small plate that held a ridiculous number of strawberries, a mini chocolate chip muffin (or three) and something that looked like a cinnamon roll and probably was, but was too flat to actually count. Leaning himself against a wall, Yuuri watched the chaos of a live television set with wide eyes, both afraid of and hoping to miss his segment so he didn’t have to wade into the storm that was circling in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ate mechanically, not really tasting anything as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Popping strawberry after strawberry into his mouth, Yuuri watched assistants running around, passing papers and tablets back and forth while in the middle of it sat Robin Roberts, Michael Strahan, and Ginger Zee. (He only knew this because Phichit made him look up who hosted the show so he wouldn’t, and he could quote, “Make an embarrassment of the figure skating world specifically and Japan in general, and bring eternal shame to the Katsuki-Chulanont household and force their children to hide their faces in paper bags forever.”) There was something about them that was magnetic, and the levels of apparent self-possession were unmatched. Reaching for another strawberry, Yuuri continued to watch them and bit-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-into air?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there.” The greeting was followed by the unmistakable sound of someone biting into a (his) strawberry. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh holy mother of Lin Manuel Miranda. Ryan Locthe is talking to me. And eating my strawberry. And… winking?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri gulped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan </span>
  <em>
    <span>Literal Olympic Swimmer </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lochte kept talking. “So… you here for a book segment or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… no?” Yuuri caught the questioning look his answer got. “No. I mean, no. I’m not. I’m here for the Dancing With The Stars segment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The swimmer smirked at him. “You a PA or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when his name was explicitly on a list, people still couldn’t believe that Yuuri was an athlete. Seriously? If this was how things were going to go, he might as well just bomb the first week on purpose and get knocked out early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Yuuri could open his mouth and correct someone who he was beginning to suspect was more self-centered and out of touch than </span>
  <em>
    <span>JJ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, someone beat him to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now, Ryan, surely you know who Katsuki Yuuri is. Japan’s Ace? Perhaps you’ve been spending a little too much time in the pool - chlorine and all that,” Viktor said smoothly, walking up, coffee cup in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s it. Yuuri was hallucinating. Or he was still on the plane and had managed to fall asleep and was dreaming all of this. He was dreaming of strawberries and chocolate chip muffins, and of Ryan Lochte and Viktor Nikiforov having a stare off because Ryan had no idea who a minor figure skater from a little rink in Detroit was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever the stare down was really about, Ryan broke first and muttered something about going to find someone, leaving Viktor and Yuuri standing there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mutely, Yuuri offered up his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank you. I love strawberries!” Victor grinned at him. Why was he grinning at him? And looking at him like he knew him? What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he had a chance to ask, he heard someone call for the Dancing With The Stars segment in the background, and Yuuri jumped. He wanted to stay, he wanted to run off, he wanted to climb Viktor like a goddamn tree, and also wanted to die and have the ground open up and swallow him whole all at once. He settled for squeaking something incoherent, setting his plate and cup down, and rushing over to the set to wait for directions. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning and welcome back to the show, America! I’m Robin Roberts, here with Michael Strahan and Ginger Zee, and let me tell you - I am really excited for this next segment. A few months ago, ABC studios teased their internet fans with the names of the latest batch of competitors for Dancing With The Stars - and just their last names!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right Robin.” Michael’s voice cut through Yuuri’s panic as he sat surrounded by his competition (Viktor was sitting </span>
  <em>
    <span>right behind him oh god he could feel his knees bumping into Yuuri’s back when he moved around</span>
  </em>
  <span>) and he looked at the camera that, thankfully, wasn’t pointed at him yet. “The Instagram video seen ‘round the world only gave you some insight into who was competing if you actually follow that particular sport. This year, there are representatives from all over the athletic world, and they’re all here. It’s my pleasure to present to you… the competitors in season 27 of Dancing With The Stars!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The studio audience burst into applause as the camera panned over to the group, everyone waving and smiling. Yuuri himself gave a nervous smile and raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck before catching himself and waving shyly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginger and Robin took over and started chattering on about how exciting the competition was going to be, going back and forth with one or two of the more well-known personalities in the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, for those of you who don’t follow sports, we have a video introduction set up for each of our competitors. We asked their coaches and teammates to send in a short video with some highlights from their career so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit. Oh no, no no no, what did those two send in? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri started to panic internally, and he was sure it showed on his face. Sure, he’d had one or two good competition pieces lately, but after Sochi, he wasn’t sure that anyone remembered anything other than his bombing the competition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the video had started playing and he could panic without being on live television for the moment. There was a screen nearby showing the clips so they would know when they were live or not, and Yuuri watched as they played through clip after clip of Clyde Drexler (his name so helpfully supplied at the bottom of the screen) swoop up in the air toward the basket as if he was flying, the basketball gracefully leaving his hand; there was Hope Solo stopping soccer ball after soccer ball, standing on the field with her teammates while they beamed with pride after a win, on and on through horse races and track meets, Shawn Johnson and Simone Biles flipping through the air, twisting impossibly fast at gymnastics competitions, car races and a terrifying UFC fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri’s video was up next. He had no idea what to expect, but was pleasantly surprised by a grainy video of one of his junior competitions, a win at the Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship and then-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to kill Phichit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of a competition video playing next, Yuuri was skating around the rink in Detroit. No music was playing, and even without it he would know the routine anywhere. The lights were only half on, and as Yuuri skated in and out of the shadows he executed jumps and step sequences and spins. Only… they weren’t from any of his public programs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For years, when Yuuri couldn’t get out of his own head, he turned towards the programs that had inspired his love for skating, and the ones that kept him going over the years. He learned from competitors all over the world, sometimes falling back on their steps that he could perform with ease, without even thinking. More often than not, he copied Viktor’s programs, finding inspiration and joy in the sweeping movements and elegant turns, crackling emotion in the jumps and lightning fast steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the step sequence that he was doing on screen just now. He was performing Viktor’s free skate program, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stammi vicino</span>
  </em>
  <span>, on live TV. Well, sort of. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor was right behind him watching it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As the video moved on to a compilation of clips from various football games, Yuuri felt the hair by his ear stir a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were a fan.” The familiar Russian lilt to the English shocked him into a jump, and Yuuri fought to stay in his seat and not bolt from the studio back to the apartment in Detroit on foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning slightly, he felt something brush at the shell of his ear. How close was Viktor right now? He was afraid to look. “Uh- um, yeah? I mean… who isn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing something between a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmm</span>
  </em>
  <span> and a chuckle, Yuuri turned around to watch the screen again as they showed basketball games and a woman swimming backstroke before jumping back to a more familiar scene. Kristi Yamaguchi in the U.S. Nationals, taking second to Tonya Harding - everyone knew about those years, it was easy to recognize. The artistry in her skating was breathtaking, like watching someone paint across the ice while landing jumps with ease. More video from her at Worlds, and several ice shows after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last two video clips were unmistakable. Ryan Lochte cutting through the water, relay after relay, event after event, medals at so many Olympic Games. 12 Olympic medals… He was nearly as well known as Michael Phelps or Katie Ledecky - and what he was known for wasn’t always good. Yuuri wasn’t sure what his motivations were for joining the show, but more than likely Lochte was here to help salvage his reputation since nothing else had worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri knew every single clip from Viktor’s montage - knew them as well as he knew his own programs. The Lilac Fairy, Danse macabre, Bolero, and Dark Eyes. Every quad flip, every spin, and medal after medal. Yuuri had watched all of them happen, had gasped and cried and shook with every competition, had watched on a grainy television at Ice Castle, then on his laptop, and then on his phone while he was at Japanese Nationals, or even from the green room when he shared competitions with Viktor, which hadn’t been often. He knew those routines so well he could - and did - skate them himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least they didn’t show </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stammi vicino</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His own skating of the program would look cheap next to the original. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A polite round of applause went through the studio as the clips ended, the hosts words barely audible over the cheers of the audience as they shouted the names of their favorite. Eventually, though, everyone settled down, and Michael’s laugh could be heard over the noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like we have some favorites already! We’ll be right back America - the athletes will meet their professional dance partners after this commercial break,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From somewhere behind too many lights and cameras a voice rang out, “That’s break! Three minutes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All around them, the set exploded into noise and chaos. Assistants were running back and forth, makeup artists running and touching up what had started to sweat off various people under the lights, and grumpy, official looking people stood off to the side conferring about who-knows-what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although the other athletes had moved around to make small-talk with one another or chat with the show hosts, Yuuri was frozen to his seat while he watched everything happen. He could still feel the whisper of Viktor’s words in his ear, not entirely sure that it had happened or if he had been dreaming. For the sake of his sanity and - well, you couldn’t call it social status if you had none right?... Well, for the sake of his sanity he hoped this was all a dream, because otherwise millions of people saw him skate his idol’s routine while he sat </span>
  <em>
    <span>right in front of the guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bess finally wandered over to him with a jar of face powder and a brush, Yuuri was relieved to see a familiar face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How you holdin’ up kiddo?” she asked, swirling some makeup onto the brush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri closed his eyes and held his breath while she tried to fix the mess that was his sweaty face. Exhaling slowly, he said, “I think that I’ve died and this is hell? Because I’m pretty sure that I’ve just embarrassed myself on national television by acting like an idiot, and in front of Vi- well, everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made a non-committal sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmm</span>
  </em>
  <span> noise. “Well, I can tell you it didn’t look great from where I was standing, but I’ve seen worse. But that guy sitting behind you? He just about lit up like a Christmas tree when your video came on. You two know each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri shook his head slowly. “He’s definitely way out of my league - skating wise! I mean skating! And everything else too. We don’t usually end up at the same competitions either. He’s got no reason to know who I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmph</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind of noise from Bess while she finished covering up the sweaty mess that Yuuri imagined he was. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but quickly moved on to the next person, and soon enough Yuuri lost her in the hustle and bustle of the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, someone came out to wrangle the athletes back into their seats and a gigantic board that had a sports bracket taped on it was wheeled out. At the far ends of each branch there were two large rectangles - one was a headshot of the athlete, and the other was covered by a paper with a large “?” in front of a silhouette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, the sports bracket was how they were going to reveal the partnerships for the new season. Each person would go up to the board and uncover the picture of their partner, who they would then greet, and go stand with them while they waited for everyone else, there would be a big dance party, and then it would end the show. Easy enough, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t easy enough that Yuuri couldn’t stop his hands from shaking slightly as he pulled the paper off of his partner’s picture when it was his turn, but he tried to pass it off as excitement as a bubbly blonde barrelled toward him - one that he didn’t recognize (he didn’t know any of the dancers) but acted excited to see anyway. The pattern continued, everyone picking their partner, excited shrieks and hugs and air kisses, until one by one, they had met the person they would work with for the next few months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of it all, the universe had clearly decided to smile on Yuuri, as he found his way pushed to the back of the group and away from the cameras for the ‘dance party’. His partner, Julianne, was nice, but he wasn’t ready to start actually dancing yet - not in public at least. So they sort of swayed and stepped side to side, while she beamed and he smiled nervously, praying for all of this to be over so they could at least get on the plane back to L.A. where maybe he could murder his roommate in peace. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Instagram messages between Victor Nikiforov and Christophe Giacometti:</p><p> </p><p>v-nikiforov: CHRIS</p><p>v-nikiforov: CHRIS HELP </p><p>christophe-gc: do you have</p><p>christophe-gc: any idea</p><p>christophe-gc: what time it is</p><p>v-nikiforov: why would i? I’m on an airplane</p><p>christophe-gc: you’re the worst why are we friends again</p><p>v-nikiforov: because you love me and the competition and the fact that we go partying together</p><p>v-nikiforov: in that order i think</p><p>v-nikiforov: BUT ANYWAY KATSUKI YUURI IS TOO PRECIOUS FOR WORDS HELP I AM SO GAY HE IS SO CUTE </p><p>christophe-gc: neither of those things are news, viktor</p><p>v-nikiforov: i have to compete against him i can’t do this he’s so gooooood</p><p>christophe-gc: you HAVE been competing against him. In skating</p><p>v-nikiforov: but he trained in ballet!</p><p>christophe-gc: so did you, if i recall. With that terrifying lilia woman</p><p>christophe-gc: but you knew this, you were tagged in the dwts video the same as he was</p><p>christophe-gc: so what’s the big deal?</p><p>v-nikiforov: he’s even more adorable than i remember</p><p>v-nikiforov: and he acted like we don’t know each other??? I’m hurt</p><p>v-nikiforov: you’re friends with him can’t you talk to him</p><p>v-nikiforov: i just want to cuddle him and skate with him and possibly just stare at him for the rest of eternity</p><p>v-nikiforov: and that swimmer tried to flirt with him </p><p>v-nikiforov: no one can have yuuri he’s mine!</p><p>christophe-gc: just because i’m friends with yuuri doesn’t mean he TALKS to me</p><p>christophe-gc: he doesn’t just talk to people, viktor, calm down</p><p>v-nikiforov: BUT I’M NOT PEOPLE</p><p>christophe-gc: fine whatever</p><p>christophe-gc: so you’re on a plane why are you on instagram</p><p>v-nikiforov: because i’m bored and we’re flying back to LA and HE IS ON THE SAME PLANE AND WILL NOT LOOK AT ME so i’m messaging you</p><p>christophe-gc: alright well maybe this will help</p><p>christophe-gc sent a video</p><p>christophe-gc: his rinkmate posted the whole video after it aired this morning here you go</p><p>v-nikiforov: oh</p><p>v-nikiforov: my</p><p>v-nikiforov: god</p><p>v-nikiforov: chris he skated my program what does this mean</p><p>v-nikiforov: it has to mean something right</p><p>v-nikiforov: i mean look at it he skated it better than i did </p><p>v-nikiforov: i’m so gay i’m panicking i’m having a gay panic i love him what now</p><p>christophe-gc: get him drunk? It seemed to work last time</p><p>v-nikiforov: i hate you</p><p>christophe-gc: no you don’t you love me now get off your phone and talk to the boy i’m blocking you for the next three hours</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>viktor nikiforov is a horrible double texter, pass it on</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes, Yuuri took the “better to be ten minutes early than five minutes late” rule a little too far. He knew exactly how long it would take him to get to the studio in traffic. He knew exactly what time practice was supposed to start, and he knew how long it would take him to get ready. He also knew that there was no way he was going to sit in the hotel room watching Snapchat stories with Phichit for three hours while slowly losing his mind, so he got to the studio early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was their first rehearsal for their opening group number. It was as terrifying of a concept as it was new - Yuuri wasn’t a pairs skater, and hadn’t taken part in any ice shows or anything beyond an occasional exhibition skate, but that was as a solo skater! Here, he would be 29 other people on a stage that was significantly smaller than a rink and the audience would be a lot closer. The thought of dancing with that many other people kept Yuuri up until nearly three in the morning when Phichit finally handed him some Benadryl and a glass of water, demanding that he get some sleep. He’d slept until noon, ate something between breakfast and lunch, and decided to go to the studio rather than wait until midafternoon when everyone else would get there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The benefit of being at the studio early was that he was able to change his clothes with no one else around. He could only imagine trying to get dressed for practice and having Viktor walk in - Yuuri was sure that he would go into some kind of spastic state where he would end up on the floor with his workout pants around his ankles and tangled up in his shirt… and not in the fun way that he might have liked to. Pulling on his leggings, and almost losing his balance in the process, was a good reminder to stay focused at least. They were followed by his white v-neck (Minako would be proud that he remembered the studio dress code, which she claimed was universal) and grabbed his bag. He had brought his Mizuno pants and sneakers for the actual rehearsal, but it wasn’t the same as his ballet clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up two flights of stairs, past smaller rooms, waiting areas and an office or two, Yuuri found the room he was looking for. The pale gray of the dance floor, white walls, and floor to ceiling windows broken up by the ballet barre felt like home. It was the most comfortable Yuuri had been since he had gotten to L.A., and it was like he could finally breathe again. He snapped a picture of the empty room to send to Phichit both as a notification that he’d gotten there safely and for his Instagram - Yuuri had long handed control over the account to his best friend, and as long as he sent him pictures for it every once in a while, and smiled through the odd selfie (or nine) then he didn’t really care what happened with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dropping his bag in a corner, Yuuri slipped his ballet shoes on and his earbuds in, starting his </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFqXR6Tbs9Q">
    <span>playlist </span>
  </a>
  <span>before tossing his phone into his bag. Facing the barre, ankle perched on the topmost one, he stretched toward and away from his leg, repeating the other side before stretching his arms and neck, working his muscles into loose warmth. Ankle rolls, pointe, demi-pointe, everything he could think of to try and lose some of the tension he had been carrying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pliés in first, second, fourth and fifth, with grande pliés and port de bras were followed by tendus and rond de jambes. Dégagés and développé followed soon after that, and then floor exercises. Spinning and leaping to the music, Yuuri finally lost himself in something that felt comfortable, familiar, rather than the sea of noise and action that he seemed to have been dropped into with a life preserver. Once he was familiar with the size of the room, he could close his eyes and pretend he was back home and that Minako was standing in the corner, watching him like a hawk for any imperfection, any way to improve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had practiced several routines with Minako over the years, always going back to them to keep his skills sharp, and he picked his </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8D8doKD8XA">
    <span>favorite </span>
  </a>
  <span>now. With every leap, he felt weightless. Loops and axels never felt this way, as if he could go on forever and never come back down. At times he caught himself smiling, lips turning up at the corners almost against his will as he threw himself into the music. This, this is what he had been missing. Skating hadn’t felt like this for a long time. It was… beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he finished his pirouette and landed in fourth position, movement in the corner of the room caught his attention. Turning fully, Yuuri could see Kristi, Julianne, and Viktor standing in the corner of the room, the women applauding while Viktor stared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling out an earbud, Yuuri frowned. “You’re staring. Do I have something on my face? It might be resin…” He began to wipe at his skin with the hem of his shirt, and there was some sort of a coughing noise but he couldn’t tell who from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri took out the other earbud and went to put them in his bag, which meant he was standing closer to the intruders (that wasn’t fair, he hadn’t booked the room - he had just hoped it was empty; he couldn’t fault other people for being early). Kristi made some kind of comment, maybe praise, that barely made it past his ears into his brain before she pulled Julianne across the room so they could stretch together - there was also some kind of comment about “girl talk” that he let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Straightening up, water bottle in hand, Yuuri looked at Viktor questioningly, who was continuing in his imitation of a fish, mouth opening and closing at sporadic intervals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don Quixote,” he finally said. “Are you a fan of Baryshnikov too, or just Russian art in general?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri couldn’t very well say that he had spent his childhood idolizing Viktor and therefore learning all things Russian that influenced figure skating, including ballets, so he just shrugged, eyes on his feet. “Something like that. Were you hanging out with Kristi and Julianne, or did you guys just get here at the same time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Viktor latched on to the change of subject, Yuuri felt his shoulders untense in relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was having lunch with her, talking about skating - what else is there for people like us to talk about, you know?” He shrugged elegantly (like everything else he seemed to do, Yuuri mused, half in love and half irritated by it). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished he could say that he understood that. Yuuri lived and breathed skating when he was in Detroit. All of his time working was spent with skaters and coaches and trainers, and all of his free time was spent with Phichit and his hamsters, but he had a whole other sphere of life in Hasetsu. His family didn’t quite understand skating, and he always had Minako when he needed a change of scenery, even if it was only from dancing on ice to dancing in a studio. Besides, he would never be able to be part of the sphere that Viktor occupied - a literal Olympian and multi-gold-medal-winner. Of course he would want to talk to Kristi. He probably wanted all the dirt she had on the Tonya Harding incident too, he thought glumly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Yuuri had been raised with the “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” maxim, he excused himself to go get changed for the scheduled practice, and slid past Viktor into the hallway in search of the nearest restroom, Mizuno pants and tennis shoes in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: chris have you ever seen yuuri practice off the ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: you saw him in his leggings didn’t you</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: i know, it’s marvelous. Ran into him at a hotel gym once, i’ll never forget it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: would it be unprofessional of me to start a poll on twitter asking who has the best ass in figure skating? And then create a dummy account and nominate him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: yes but when has that stopped you from doing anything? But it would be creepy, and if you don’t want to scare him off… better not do it. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, the previous swim or porn meme mention?<br/>https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/000/364/714/17e.jpg<br/>https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/366/423/860.jpg<br/>https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/366/423/860.jpghttps://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/366/423/860.jpg</p><p>less of a meme and more of a 'perfectly placed info bar and pause' screenshot that people loved talking about</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>TRANSCRIPT BETWEEN PRODUCTION ASSISTANT (PA) WR AND YUURI KATSUKI - WEEK ONE INTRO PACKAGE</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Good morning, Mr. Katsuki. May I call you Yuuri?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: (yawns) Morning. And sure. Sorry I’m not quite awake yet… I’m not exactly a morning person. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: No worries. So, this is the first interview of the season for you, and I’m going to go through the basics. At this point it’s really important that the viewers get a sense of who you are as a person. Just relax - it’s a conversation between us, and you don’t need to be nervous.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Ready? Let’s start with something easy. You’ve skated for most of your life. When did you start skating?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Well, I don’t know that I’d say most of my life… but a good part of it, yeah. I grew up in a really small town and we didn’t have a lot going on? But there was always Ice Castle, and I would go there and mess around with my friend Yuuko. We would always watch figure skating competitions and decided that one day we wanted to do that too. I think I was… I don’t know. I was always skating, but I remember being really serious about practice around 9 or 10.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Ice Castle?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: It’s the name of the ice rink in town. Hasetsu Ice Castle. My friend Yuuko and her husband run it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: What was your favorite thing about skating back then?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Probably the same thing as now. I feel whole when I’m out there. Even if I get lost, I know I can go back to the ice and I’ll know exactly where I am.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Did you ever think about skating pairs, or was men’s solo skating always your ambition?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: There was a few months where Yuuko and I joked about joining up and skating together. We would watch old Olympic routines and try to copy them, which didn’t really end well for us. I loved skating with her, but things just didn’t turn out that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: What was your motivation for coming on the show?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Well… I suppose I can say it now. I was thinking about retiring. I bombed my last competition, got the worst scores that I had gotten since I’d joined the Senior Division, and had a lot of personal stuff going on. I lost my love of skating in all of that, and thought it would be better for everyone if I just quit. I had bought a ticket home and everything. And then my roommate said I had gotten something in the mail about this show and it seemed like a good chance to do something different. I was a dancer before I was a skater, so it seemed like a good idea at the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: During your appearance on Good Morning America, a video of you practicing was shown, which was then released by your rinkmate Phichit Chulanont. Tell me about that. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Am I allowed to say that I’m going to kill him for doing that to me? Probably not. A lot of the time when I can’t sleep I go to the rink and he must have gotten tired of asking me where I was going and me not answering, so he probably followed me because of that? Phichit is big on documenting everything on social media, so he recorded it. I don’t know what he was planning on doing with it!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Figure skating fans have noticed that the skating in the video wasn’t from any of your previous programs. Where was that from?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: If you found that out then I’m sure you also found out whose program that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Word on the street is that it was a program your competitor Viktor Nikiforov skated not too long ago. Why his program?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Are you serious? It’s Viktor Freaking Nikiforov. He’s a legend in the skating world. If anyone wants to learn to be a better skater, they look at him. So, I figured I could just… learn his programs. And learn how to be better.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Better than Viktor? That’s ambitious.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Yes. I mean no. Yes? Sorry. The whole skating community looks up to him, and you have to aim for that level if you want to get on the podium. Besides, have you seen his version of the program?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: Yes, I think so.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: It’s amazing. I've spent years working on skating that routine as perfectly as I can. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: And now you’re dancing on the same stage. Do you think you’ll take the same approach with your dancing?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Viktor? Learn from me? Pfft, yeah right.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WR: One last question - what’s been the best part of dancing with Julianne?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>YK: Minako - my old ballet teacher - is going to kill me for this but… Julianne’s approach to ballet and incorporating it into training. Anyone who’s danced knows that ballet is the foundation of everything, but she really takes it to another level.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gosh i wonder how THAT interview will be received...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Any fan of Yuuri Katsuki was well aware of the fact that he didn’t “do” social media. Phichit did, and that was how most of them got their Yuuri fix between competitions - pictures with him blurry in the background, trying to move out of the frame, short snippets of him skating that usually ended in “Phichit, turn that thing off!” and the occasional real selfie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not much had changed with his temporary relocation to California - he still hated being caught on camera, and he was usually timid in his interviews, his tone making his answers sound more like questions. The only noticeable differences were that; a. Phichit’s pictures with Yuuri now had a distinctly sunny background instead of the gray concrete and steel of a city, and b. Yuuri’s Instagram was now run by Phichit and was noticeably more active, especially with pictures from the dance studio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon making this discovery, Viktor had immediately followed from his spare account (the unofficial one that didn’t have his name attached and only showed pictures of pretty scenery), and began liking every picture of the Japanese man that he could find. He spent several hours in a Yuuri-Katsuki-bubble and happily saved several of his favorite pictures to his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris was less thrilled about this, because it now meant that he was spammed with more Instagram messages that were usually pictures of Yuuri accompanied by many emojis or exclamation points. Taking into consideration the fact that Switzerland was 9 hours ahead of Los Angeles and the fact that Chris rarely put his phone on silent, it wasn’t always a winning combination. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: i swear you’re doing this so i can’t get any sleep and you’ll beat me at the next competition</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: i don’t need to do that to win and we both know it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: besides, it’s the off season so we both know i’m not the reason you’re not getting sleep hmmmmmmm</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: JUST LOOK AT HOW CUTE HE IS. WHY DID HE GO TO THE BEACH AND NOT INVITE ME?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: chris? Christophe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re sorry, it looks like your messages aren’t being accepted by this user. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: seriously? Again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re sorry, it looks like your messages aren’t being accepted by this user. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: i hate u. But not really</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesdays meant the morning off after the Monday night shows, and Viktor had already enjoyed breakfast at his hotel and had decided to do a bit of shopping in LA - he rarely got sent to Skate America, so he didn’t usually have an excuse to be in the country and wanted to take advantage while he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rodeo Drive seemed like the obvious choice, and Viktor was all about doing surprising things, so he headed to Abbot Kinney Boulevard - according to Google it seemed like a good place to go, so that was where he directed his Uber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armed with a baseball cap and sunglasses, Viktor wandered around for hours, in and out of shops, picking up trinkets or other things for his friends back in Russia, and more than a few trinkets and pieces of clothes for himself (he could already hear Mila telling him that he had plenty of scarves, but there was simply no such thing , and one day she would realize the error of her ways). By the time he had made his way down the boulevard, he had picked up a new pair of glasses at Warby Parker, several new shirts, a lovely notebook and pen from Urbanic Paper Boutique. He rounded the corner and found Erewhon Market and picked up some items for lunch back at his hotel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he was standing in line, something peculiar caught his eye - a slightly blurry screen capture from a video that was taken while they were all on Good Morning America for the show. In it, Yuuri was looking down, and the image made him look stony-faced and sullen. Inset into that was another picture that was close up of Viktor who was looking off to the side, looking very unhappy himself. What had he been looking at? Viktor’s memory was terrible, but he was sure that he had been watching that swimmer, Ryan Locket or whatever his name was. The image was surrounded by bright red text that read “NIKIFOROV AND KATSUKI RIVALRY MOVES TO THE DANCE FLOOR,” with smaller text under that which indicated that the story was continued on page 7. Shoving his sunglasses back on his face, Viktor grabbed the magazine and threw it on the conveyor with his purchases, not exactly proud of the fact that he was so bothered by the headline. </span>
</p><p>
  
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>FIGURE SKATING RIVALS YUURI KATSUKI AND VIKTOR NIKIFOROV MOVE THEIR RIVALRY TO THE BALLROOM - MISTAKE BY ABC?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Written by Angelique Card</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Contributions made by R.J. Laast</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>When pulling together a list of contestants for Dancing With The Stars , ABC Studios usually has a wide range of people in mind. Actors, artists, singers, athletes, television personalities and more populate the field of potential candidates, and it’s a rare thing - almost impossible - that someone on the show has a beef with another contestant that season. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>With this special athlete edition of our favorite dancing reality television show, it seems that ABC didn’t pull from a wide enough pool, and figure skaters Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are already making waves. Pun intended, of course - if only we could have saved that for Lochte!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>An inside source on the show has revealed that Katsuki, who was seen looking grim during the televised partner reveal on Good Morning America , has long considered Nikiforov - a five time world champion - to be his rival and, the source says, “wants to skate as good as or better than Viktor, and beat him to the podium”. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Figure skating fans have long speculated about Katsuki, who is notoriously private and rarely uses social media himself (his rinkmate Phichit Chulanont of Thailand posts pictures of the two, but not enough for fan’s tastes), apparently stated in one of his pre-show interviews that he learned to skate one of Nikiforov’s programs so he could learn from the idol, and learn how to beat him at his own game. The source goes on to state that-</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor dropped the paper on his bed, unsure of how he felt about the whole thing. Mostly he was left with questions, and knew it was his own fault that he couldn’t answer them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did Yuuri consider him a rival? He didn’t know, seeing as he couldn’t remember seeing him at a competition. Why was Yuuri upset during that television piece? Maybe he was embarrassed? Or maybe he didn’t like the videos that were submitted. Viktor had certainly had a hand in selecting his, although Team Russia kept a handful of videos on file for each skater in the event of media attention. Did he really want to be better than Viktor? Possibly. Most people had learned to settle for silver at whatever competition Viktor was at, but some true competition would be nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And most importantly - Why was he so friendly (that isn’t the right word, Nikiforov, get it together) - personal, then - at the banquet? That was the real question. Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s Ace, someone who could hold his liquor until he absolutely couldn’t, dancer extraordinaire… was also the same cold, calculating competitor that the magazine claimed? This hot and cold between the Yuuri he had danced with at Sochi and the Yuuri he had seen since this whole show started were two very different people, and Viktor wasn’t sure which one was the real one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew which one he wanted to be the real one. But, if he was wrong and it wasn’t the Yuuri that he wanted at the core of who he saw, at least Viktor had another competitor, one who might well and truly beat him if he didn’t step up his game here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whipping out his phone, he called Peta and asked her to schedule another practice as soon as she could. He had some work to do if he was going to add a mirrorball to his medal collection.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh viktor....</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If last week’s show had been chaotic, this week’s was a nightmare mixed with a tsunami, and a side of earthquake aftershocks - at least to Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last week he hadn’t had to worry about anything but remembering his spot, remembering his dance, and trying not to throw up on camera. The athlete’s involvement in the group number had been minimal while the professionals were the ones who took the brunt of the work away from them, and the judges had said that his first dance had shown a lot of promise, and that they hoped he stepped up his game next week and won over the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meaning that he hadn’t done that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his own (shoddy) defense, he had been so focused on his introduction video package and the fact that it was so much less than his competitors, that he already felt as though he was behind, and didn’t know that it mattered if he managed to catch up. So many people had videos that showed family accomplishments, records being broken, Olympic medals, competition videos that looked exciting and flashy and fast-paced and all that Yuuri had was… Not that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that his was bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just… small potatoes, as one of his rinkmates would say. There were home videos of him skating with Mari and his mother, grainy footage from early competitions, pictures of him in Minako’s ballet studio, and clips from the few Senior Division competitions that weren’t entirely awful. Yes, there was a podium clip or two, but those were never from the big competitions that most people took notice of, and there wasn’t any pride in showing him taking fourth place when someone like Viktor or Christophe took first at the same event. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been no sign of his interview from that week, but maybe it just hadn’t been good enough - that was more believable to Yuuri at least. Yuuri had never been very good at interviews, so maybe they just didn’t have enough decent material to show it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, it had been a lackluster performance on level with his other lackluster performances where his anxiety got the best of him and made him falter. If he didn’t pick it up this week, he knew he would be eliminated, and he couldn’t face his family after that. Going home after one horrifying defeat was bad, but two? He wouldn’t be able to look his parents in the eyes or explain what had happened. He would be a disgrace of a son, an embarrassment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent the week practicing every moment that he could. When Julianne would kick him out of the studio, he would find another one if possible, and go to the gym or the rink if he couldn’t. He went out to lunch with Phichit, but spent every other waking moment focused on making a decent showing and trying to save face. (If his best friend was bothered by this, he didn’t say - Yuuri was sure that Phichit could keep himself entertained and was probably hanging out with Leo or a new friend he made within thirty seconds of walking into a room. He could make best friends with a rock.) When he wasn’t practicing himself to the point of exhaustion, he was in costume fittings, interviews, or soaking in the tub wishing it was the onsen back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Monday, they had their usual group rehearsal, costume fittings, and then there was several hours of what Yuuri expected would be excruciating wait time if things went like the week before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t. Of course they didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was scheduled last for rehearsals that day. Instead of spending the day sitting by himself in a corner of the green room with headphones in, he found himself being summoned to some producers office. His stomach plummeted when he was told that they had asked for him - had he done something wrong? Was he being sent home for something? He had worked so hard, and he knew that he had to earn his place here. Was Julianne upset with him? Had he done something wrong in practice? Every possible worst case scenario ran through his brain, starting with his own shortcomings and then expanding out to something happening to Phichit, to Celestino, Minako, Mari, his parents. Were they all okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoving his headphones into his pocket, Yuuri knocked before entering the room at the producer’s greeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanted to see me?” he asked, voice thick with nerves. He tried to swallow past it, but it felt as though his throat were dry and close to sticking itself closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The producer, a woman with short blonde hair, looked up and gestured to the chair across the desk from her. “Take a seat, Mr. Katsuki.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did as he was told, looking at her hesitantly, waiting for the proverbial axe to fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Katsuki,” she began. “As you know, last week we started interviews with all of our contestants and cast members. It’s been a lengthy process, and final editing and production was wrapped up only a few days ago. It’s important that we… present the right image to the public. Tell a story they want to hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri blanched. “Did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry! Please forgive me - let me do it again, or if it’s too late let me make it up somehow. I’m sorry someone went through the troub-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman smiled. “Nothing like that. Mr. Katsuki, Yuuri, I wanted to talk to you about your interview and how that can shape your experience here on the show. Were you aware that your interview was, in part, leaked to the press last week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh shit. Had he embarrassed the show? “...No, I wasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, in any case, it was. And while we’ve dealt with the person who leaked it, there have been some repercussions. Comments that were made about your taking inspiration from your fellow figure skaters were taken in a certain context, and have created an opportunity for our show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually, we have to manage stories about relationships, illicit or otherwise, between competitors and their professional partners. These pairs spend a lot of time together, oftentimes outside of rehearsal as well, and the public loves the possibility of a good romance when something as intimate as dancing is involved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. What was she getting at?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, we have a different opportunity. The public has taken an interest in your professional connection to Viktor Nikiforov. They have been presented with an image that you are looking to surpass him in the skating world, and that it has carried over to the dance floor. That, combined with your stoic presentation at Good Morning America , has proven to be very enticing to the media and the public. I would like you to continue to present that image.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was fairly certain that in that moment, nothing could have shocked him more - not even if Viktor Nikiforov (who was his… rival now?) jumped out of a cake and kissed him senseless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Present that image?” he repeated dumbly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, nodding. “We haven’t considered a rival storyline for quite a while, and I believe that it will be well received by audiences. Given your standing in the skating world as opposed to your competitors, as well as your strong background in dance, it makes sense that since you can’t take the gold from him there, you would work hard to claim the mirrorball for yourself. I’m sure you can see how that would be something that would appeal to our viewership.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time Yuuri had felt this small, he had been backed up against a bathroom stall, being yelled at by an angry blonde Russian kid. He had felt about two inches tall at the time, shame churning in his gut and the flush of embarrassment heating his cheeks and ears. This was so much worse than that. She didn’t think he could be as good as Viktor, or even come close. Was that why he was here? To fail and make the real stars look good? To be cannon fodder, a sacrificial lamb who was being saved for the right moment?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together painfully. “I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As quickly as he could without being rude, he made his excuses and left the office, wandering down hallways and through rooms backstage aimlessly. He wasn’t due to practice for another few hours, he couldn’t get his costume fitted again, it wasn’t his turn for hair and makeup - where was he going to go? It felt like the walls were closing in, like no choice was the right one, left turns should have been right, noise instead of silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did anyone think he could win?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed in his pocket - Julianne was texting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get lost?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah , he replied. I’m in… Break Room 7? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll come find you. Can’t have you getting lost before practice!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did it matter? he thought bitterly. Did practice matter anymore? Did anything? He wasn’t here to win, apparently. He was just here to tell a good story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later (had he been that lost?), Julianne walked in. Immediately, she saw the expression on his face and she frowned before pulling out a chair and pushing on his shoulders to make him sit before sitting across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” she asked. Her voice was quiet but matter of fact. Firm, but not too invasive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to play it cool, to act like nothing had happened and that he had only gotten lost - bored while waiting for practice to start. That was reasonable, right? Apparently not, because Julianne gave him a look as if she saw right through every bullshit line he fed her and waited patiently for the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he told her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri told her everything - from the first time he saw Viktor skate, to his first competition, learning to skate the Russian man’s routines, rising and then falling and then rising again through the ranks of figure skating. His crash and burn at Sochi. Vicchan. His almost retirement, and the encouragement from Phichit to come here instead, and give dance a more prominent place in his life. He told her what he had said in the interview last week, and how he was afraid that he had misstepped and now he was being put in this place where he was going to have to act like he didn’t care about anything but winning, and how he was going to act like he was going to beat Viktor at all costs, all while the producers didn’t even have any faith in him, since he had done so horribly in his last skating competition. How it felt like a lie, a sham, that he was going to sacrifice his dancing and his emotions for the sake of telling a story (he couldn’t even think of those words without venom in his tone) and how dancing was the truest form of movement and expression he had and now it was going to be ruined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he was finished telling his story, Yuuri’s chest was heaving with emotion, his breath labored as he tried to keep his composure. Everything felt like it was falling apart. And on top of that, he had just spilled his guts to his professional dance partner, who worked for ABC and was probably going to tell the producers that he couldn’t handle it and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri started, looking up at her with alarm. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting back in her chair, Juliane looked at him appraisingly. “Fuck. Them.” There was no mistaking the words when she enunciated them that clearly. “Or, fuck with them. Do you want to know what I’ve learned after being on this show?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing on here except for the hard work that you put in is real. They probably even have it worked out who’s going to the semi-finals. Every year they look for a story to tell, they leak things to the tabloids, they set up interviews and prep the media with specific questions to get reactions. It’s all fake . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why not play along? It’s pretty clear that you don’t actually hate Nikiforov, but it won’t hurt you to try and wipe the dance floor with his pretty face. Just put on an act - look tough and like you don’t care what anyone else thinks, go out there and dance, and when you get asked about Viktor, tell them that you look forward to continuing your competition against him and that maybe a change of venue is just what you needed. Something. Feed the vultures, do what you love, and try to make it out with as few scars as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was… brilliant. Yuuri told her so, and Julianne grinned. “I know. Now c’mon, let’s see if we can switch with Mark and finish rehearsal earlier. He owes me a favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held out her hand and Yuuri took it, grateful that he had told her what had been on his mind. As they walked out, he asked, “Does Mark happen to owe you any other favors? Because my best friend really wants to meet him.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dancing the </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BYSfV2q0RQ">
    <span>quickstep </span>
  </a>
  <span>, Yuuri Katsuki and his partner Julianne Hough!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those were the last words Yuuri heard before applause broke through the haze of energy and music and the burning in his muscles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a great performance but it had been better than last week. Len praised the intricate step work while admonishing him to work on his performance values and playing to the crowd, while Bruno gushed and him being light on his feet, a “dark fairy flitting through the skies and darting between the stars”, whatever that meant. Carrie echoed much of what Len said, and had a few more pointers about his arm placement. A decent performance, they all agreed, but it seemed like his heart wasn’t in it. The worst part was, Yuuri knew they were right and agreed with them. He could have done better, he could have been more focused, he could have been more . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Selfishly, he wanted to blame it on the video segment. The show had finally aired the interviews, and Yuuri was horrified when he saw his. Standing on the stage, waiting for their dance to start, he stood hand in hand with Julianne as they watched it play out on the screen for the audience. The clips of them dancing weren’t bad (Yuuri could point out at least a half-dozen problems, but he was always doing that to himself) and Julianne even had some good things to say about his work ethic and his practice. It was when he started speaking on the screen that the Yuuri standing on the stage trained his eyes on the floor beneath him as Julianne squeezed his hand reassuringly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>…”I was a dancer before I was a skater. A lot of the time when I can’t sleep I go to the rink, and he must have gotten tired of asking me where I was going…” a clip of his skating Stammi vicino was played while his voice continued. “I feel whole out there. I figured I could just… learn his programs. And learn how to be better. You have to aim for that level if you want to get on the podium.” The interviewer’s voice cut in. And now you’re dancing on the same stage. Do you think you’ll take the same approach? “Viktor? Pfft, yeah right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt to see what they had turned his interview into, where it looked like he was gunning for Viktor’s spot at the top of the podium - which, to be fair, he was, but he wanted to show that he could earn it. Yuuri wanted to be on that podium because he deserved to be there and because his hard work showed. This made it look like he wanted to be there because it was personal . Like he had something against Viktor, against the man, not the skating records. Just before their dance was announced and Yuuri finally had to look somewhere other than at his own feet, he snuck a glance at Viktor. His expression bordered on unreadable, but he certainly looked unhappy with the situation. He had been so thrilled to see Yuuri skating his program when they were in New York - had he changed his mind? Was he trying to find the best way to squash Yuuri under the hell of his shoe? (Not that it would be hard, in Yuuri’s opinion - he still wasn’t sure he could hold his own against the man)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was enough to send him into a mental tailspin, and the results were right there in black and gold on the judge’s score paddles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they reached the end of the night, Yuuri was on stage one more time, and he wasn’t alone. He and Julianne stood with Victor Espinosa and his partner Karina, and Martina Navratilova and her partner Tony. He was in the bottom three, surely seconds away from going home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course finding out who had been eliminated wasn’t that easy. Just as Tom and Erin started their announcement, they came to a dramatic stop, to continue right after this commercial break. Yuuri wasn’t sure his nerves could take much more, and the universe apparently disagreed, because as soon as they cut to commercial, the floor was flooded with competitors, professionals, and the judges, all saying their private goodbyes before whatever would happen next on screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristi came up to him immediately, hugging him and looking at him with sad, knowledgeable eyes. Did she hear something from a judge? Had a producer said something? This was it, he knew it. She was followed by the three judges, who all spoke to him - quiet words, telling him that his dancing was incredible and would be record breaking if only he could sell the performance to the audience. From that alone, he had a renewed hope that he wasn’t going home, but maybe they spoke to everyone about to be eliminated that way, to keep the hope alive only to have it dashed on live television. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hope, Natalie, and Lolo followed, wishing all of them the best of luck and telling them they hoped they stayed on while the professionals talked amongst themselves. If Yuuri wanted to stay for his own sake, he wanted Julianne to stay even more so she could continue to compete against her brother. It was magic watching the two of them dance during professional numbers, and she lit up the stage like nothing else. He wanted the world to see more of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The final nail in the coffin was Viktor. He stood nearby, quietly chatting with Martina and Victor - pointedly excluding Yuuri, although he spared him a cool and curious glance every once in a while. It appeared as though he were looking at his new “rival” as though he were a bug under a microscope, searching for any weak points and defections. Embarrassingly, it was as though Viktor looked at him, looked right though him, and found him lacking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it would be better if he were sent home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps the universe would be kind to him and let him go home quietly to his parents, to beg forgiveness and begin again. Perhaps the universe wouldn’t really kick him when he was down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The universe did, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martina and her partner were eliminated, and the stage swarmed once again as people hugged, celebrated or mourned (depending on their opinions) and gathered to say goodbye until next week. In the middle of it all, Yuuri stood hand in hand with Julianne, watching the chaos.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the first elimination, it’s clear that everyone deals with it in a different way. Some of the professionals went home to their families, to enjoy some much needed quiet time with their loved ones. Some chose to go back to their hotels and relax - or whatever it was they did when they weren’t doing things for the show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some, like Viktor, chose to celebrate the fact that they had survived by going out and drinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to change out of his costume in order to avoid death by sewing scissors at the hands of the wardrobe department, but he kept the makeup on as he headed out into the night, the cool breeze cutting through his jeans and black t-shirt. The cold didn’t bother him - this was nothing compared to home and besides, the alcohol would warm him up soon enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <a href="http://www.therogerroom.com/">
    <span>Roger Room </span>
  </a>
  <span>was the bar of choice at the moment, according to Peta and several of the cast. Without Christophe or Yuri here to keep him company, Viktor had found himself in the position of having to make friends for the first time in quite a while. He had fallen in with several of the pros - namely his partner Peta, Anna and Mark, and several of the ensemble dancers. Gleb, Sasha and Pasha were excellent company. For the most part they had Eastern European backgrounds and bonded over the experience of living in that area or having family who did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe hadn’t been all that surprised to hear that Viktor had found his footing among the dancers. They had talked on the phone earlier in the week and his friend had interrupted his meandering thoughts as to why he just couldn’t seem to get along with the other athletes. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>“Of course you don’t get along with those neanderthals,” Chris had reasoned. “You’ve got football players, basketball players, a UFC fighter for goodness sake, a racer - a </span>
    <b>racer </b>
    <span>, Viktor, and </span>
    <b>Ryan Lochte </b>
    <span>. That man has more scandals following him than your little russian fairy has fans. Oh the other hand, you have a whole array of professional dancers, who do exactly what you do but on a ballroom floor instead of on ice, and they understand performance value.”</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>“Yes, but isn’t it bad form to not make friends with these athletes? Aren’t we all supposed to be friendly?” he had whined. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Chris sighed. “When have you ever wanted to do what’s expected, </span>
    <b>mon cher </b>
    <span>? You can be a lot to handle on a good day, and you’ve found people who can do that. You’ve found performers who understand what we do for a living. How often does that happen? Why not go spend time with them? There’s nothing wrong with that.”</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he had a point. And so Viktor had gone with a clear conscience, downing neon shots with Mark and Peta, and lounging in a booth with the group of them as the music and light pulsed around them. Occasionally, they would pull each other out to the dance floor and get lost in the writhing crowd of bodies. It wasn’t really dancing the way that they knew it, just simple swaying and moving without a plan. For weeks, every move had been stylized, every song picked for a specific time signature, and now it was just a thumping bass beat and mindless lyrics that no one paid attention to. It was a release more than a dance, shaking and swaying the tension and irritation and energy of the week away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Viktor found himself back at the booth, leaning his head back to rest on the cool leather while laughing with Peta and Sasha about an inside joke that he didn’t get when he pulled out his phone. He would have to leave eventually - just because his taskmaster was here too didn’t mean he could get away with staying out all night. She was probably accustomed to weeks like this and late nights - and while Viktor was no slouch, this week had been exhausting. He was used to a grueling practice and workout schedule, but being in a dance studio wasn't his preferred method of practice and hours staring in a mirror while working on the simplest motions were beginning to wear on him. He skated so much by instinct rather than strict training that sometimes he wasn't sure what to do with himself when he was expected to perform to these kinds of standards. Adding in floundering before finding a crowd to relax with and the requests for comments about his new rivalry with Yuuri bombarding his social media, his email, and his agent's email was enough to drive him mad. He would have to go home at some point. But not yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waving over a waitress, he ordered one more drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before putting his phone back in his pocket, he opened Twitter and started mindlessly scrolling before seeing that #dwts was trending.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Step On Me Viktor @mdavis93</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>It’s a crime that Viktor didn’t get the best score of the night. HE LITERALLY DANCES ON ICE WTF #dwts #justiceforviktor</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 12    ⟳ 5    ♡ 300    ↑64</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he couldn’t disagree with her there. He had done passably well, but Viktor knew he could do better. He liked the tweet anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>sag sun gemini moon @ballroombabe73</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>look idgaf what ya’ll say we should have had the whole bottom three go home victor and that other guy danced like crap and ya’ll too scared to say it #dwts #toomanyvictors</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 228    ⟳ 592    ♡ 37    ↑12</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hmm. He was less than pleased to see that people were disparaging Yuuri - apparent rivalry or not - and he was tempted to ask when the last time the poster had danced in a ballroom on live TV after spending a lifetime doing something else. Could he make a fake Twitter account? This was just more evidence for Chris as to why he should. </span>
</p><p>
  
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Brittany. Blm. erin stan. @carolbaskinrobbins</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Week 2 is always trash can we just appreciate erin andrews and her blonde goddess status #dwts #hairgoals</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 8   ⟳ 19    ♡ 28    ↑4</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Angel baby @starofseventh</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>There was only a bottom three bc abc is too nice u know len wanted to send half of them home i thought this season was gonna be good #dwts</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 29    ⟳ 16   ♡ 82    ↑7</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Wesley BOOtilier @WesleyBout2</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>abc hyped this season as the best ever but they do that every season and ya’ll are too cowardly to tell them that they’re wrong #dwts 20 something seasons is too long</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 12    ⟳ 12    ♡ 12    ↑12</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>More mindless internet drivel… Why did he look at this again?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Not related to mike @abigalrowe</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>why are the hot ones never american #victornikiforov #toohottoohandle #dwts</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 127    ⟳ 382    ♡ 613    ↑47 </span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ah yes, that was why. It was always nice to see that his efforts in his appearance were appreciated. </span>
</p><p>
  
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Melissa Pfieffer @hotforfood</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>OMG it’s viKtor, not viCtor #dwts #youunculturedswine</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 78    ⟳ 179    ♡ 362   ↑27</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Not related to mike @abigalrowe</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>replying to @abigailrowe</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Who tf cares this is twitter not some census</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 825    ⟳ 80    ♡ 104    ↑1</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Not related to mike @abigalrowe</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>replying to @abigailrowe</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>The dude is hot what else do i need to know #dwts</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>🗨 809    ⟳ 565    ♡ 983    ↑68</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After the first elimination, it’s clear that everyone deals with it in a different way. Some of the professionals went home to their families, to enjoy some much needed quiet time with their loved ones. Some chose to go out and party, reveling in the fact that they would live to dance another week. Some chose to go back to their hotels and relax - or whatever it was they did when they weren’t doing things for the show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, in Yuuri’s case - go back to their hotel room and obsessively watch videos of the competition (thank god for YouTube) while trying to figure out what they had, what they could do, that he didn’t, couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about the first hour of watching Yuuri watch videos and take notes in meticulous English, Phichit abandoned the sweatshirt nest he had made for Dorothy, Blanche, and Rose and flopped on Yuuri’s bed with such force that the laptop nearly toppled over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuuuuurriiiiiii,” he whined. “Come out with me! Leo can meet us somewhere and we can all relax! You’ve been working your ass off for weeks now - can’t you take a break until tomorrow morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without turning away from the screen, Yuuri shook his head. “I can’t, Phichit. I was almost eliminated this week. They expect a lot from me on this show, okay? And Julianne expects a lot from me. I have to learn how to get better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit huffed. “Man, it’s like skating season all over again. This is for charity , so can’t you just… I don’t know. Drink and chill instead of YouTube and chill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Yuuri turned to look at his friend, and rolled his eyes at how ridiculous Phichit looked. His hair was sticking up at odd ends, and he was wearing a sweatshirt that was at least three sizes too big. “You certainly don’t look like you’re ready for a night out on the town. Just stay in with me and your children tonight,” he tried, pleadingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m offended that you think I’m not ready to rage at all times. For all you know I could be wearing my party shirt underneath this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Yuuri knew that Phichit probably was wearing his party shirt underneath his sweatshirt. The shirt in question was, in Yuuri’s inexpert but still valuable opinion, a trainwreck. They had found it when walking through a Goodwill looking for workout shirts to wear to the rink, when Phichit had pulled it off a rack, eyes aglow with excitement. It was a </span>
  <a href="https://i.etsystatic.com/15837886/r/il/f2b856/1950110271/il_570xN.1950110271_sptd.jpg">
    <span>hideous shade of pink </span>
  </a>
  <span>that Yuuri hadn’t seen outside of a bottle of Pepto Bismol before, and he always wore it with a </span>
  <a href="https://www.tipsyelves.com/mas_assets/cache/image/1/d/9/450x-473.Jpg">
    <span>t-shir </span>
  </a>
  <span>t that said something about spooning. The combination was glaring, a clashing mess of prints and colors, and somehow Phichit was loud enough to pull it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phichit, if you want to go out, you should go,” Yuuri encouraged. “I have work to do, and you know I just can’t do the social thing all the time. I need to recharge, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit did know - Yuuri had talked to him about it years ago after multiple unsuccessful attempts to get him to go out on the weekends with people from the rink. One day, Yuuri had sat him down, and explained as best he could in stilted English and stammering sentences about how sometimes, he just couldn’t be around people. Sometimes it was too much for him to go to class, go to study sessions, go to the rink, and be around people and noise all day long, and how when he was home at the end of the day he just needed to lay on his bed and not do anything or speak to anyone. And by the end of the week, he just couldn’t go out and expend social energy from a battery that was already running on fumes. His friend had understood, and made sure to give him plenty of warning when he could about social events so Yuuri could either budget his energy wisely, or find a good reason to bow out gracefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an understanding nod and sympathetic noise, Phichit patted Yuuri on the shoulder. “Yeah, I get it dude. Just don’t work all night okay? You need to take care of yourself too. Hot bath, comfy clothes - self care, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absently, Yuuri nodded and went back to his computer screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit pulled off his sweatshirt (he was wearing the party t-shirt, pulled his awful pink shirt out of his suitcase, and slipped on his shoes before heading out the door with promises to be quiet when he came in - promises that Yuuri didn’t hear as he buried himself in his videos and notes, earbuds shoved in to focus on the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though… the music wasn’t necessarily the problem. Yuuri had always been able to listen and adapt no matter his program music, finding the rhythm and counts and bending his movements around them. Yuuri could see how his opponents, for the most part, were trying to force their movements to match and even beat the music instead of working with it. His competitors were so powerful that they tried to force the music to do what they wanted, used to pushing their way through anything to win. Whether they were pushing the opposition out of the way, or forcing their way down a court or through the water, or - in one horrifying case - forcing their opponent into the ground, they relied on brute strength. In comparison, the rest of the competition was… sneakier. They went around obstacles instead of through them. That was going to be a problem.The true competition came from the gymnasts, Kristi, and Viktor. While everyone might be able to play to the audience and tug on the heartstrings of viewers to get their votes, the talent wasn’t actually there for some of them. Those four had the popularity, the talent, and the musicality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Yuuri made notes in his notebook, ranking the scores according to the show and the score he assigned everyone based on his meticulous notes. Viktor, Simone, Shawn, Kristie, and Hope rounded out his top five. If he could study their routines and even the interview footage of their practices,  Anything he could find to make note of - arm placements, leg turnout, steps during turns, just how their head was turned - filled page after page. He needed to know what to practice on his own and with Julianne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a break to call for room service before going back to his videos, watching the same one again and again until he thought he might be able to perform their dance just from seeing it. Staring at the screen, willing himself to learn how they had done as well as they had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knock at the door jolted him back to reality. Yuuri didn’t bother to close his computer or move his things - he would just eat while he worked.  As he disentangled himself from his headphones, there was a knock again, and he tried to shout that he would be there in a second, but it came out as a strangled yelp as he almost tripped getting off of his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry!” he blurted, reaching for the door. “I hope you weren’t waiting lon-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re not food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristi grinned. “Well, no. But we brought Oreos, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri stared at her, dumbfounded as she pushed her way into his room, followed by Simone, Shawn, and Natalie. Each of them was carrying a different kind of Oreos, Natalie carried a tub of peanut butter, and Kristie carried a bottle of Chardonnay while Simone carried a pack of waters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We noticed that you don’t really hang out with anyone other than Julianne, and since you apparently hate Viktor - the only other skater here,” Kristi noted, “we decided that you’re hanging out with us. Sound cool?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still standing in the doorway. What is happening? Why am I still standing here? Is this my life now - I’m friends with Kristi Yamaguchi and world class gymnasts? And a swimmer? Yuuri couldn’t get his mind around it, but shut the door and accepted his fate. It wasn’t all that much different from when he had become friends with Phichit - he just sort of… went along with what the other person had decided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awesome,” Natalie said, sitting on the edge of Phichit’s bed, crossing her legs. “So, what’s up with you and Viktor anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. Did chlorine short circuit the polite centers of swimmer’s brains? He looked at Kristi, ostensibly the adult in the room, in a panic, eyes wide as he stammered that he didn’t know what they were talking about, and wasn’t there something else that they wanted to talk about? She laughed and changed the subject, moving on to griping about how much hairspray she still had to wash out of her hair, which the other women quickly latched on to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relaxing back onto the headboard, Kristi sitting by his knees, Simone and Natalie and Shawn on the other bed, Yuuri relaxed. This, he could handle. He didn’t want to be in the spotlight - not here, not like this. It was enough for him to know that people wanted to hang out with him, and share Oreos and peanut butter and wine (which he turned down - he wasn’t about to get drunk in front of people he had known a grand total of fifteen minutes). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If friendship was this easy, he would have to try and do this more often.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'm akitoes on tumblr and violettdelights on twitter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Buzzfeed Celebrity · Updated on Sep 19. Posted on Sep 17</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>13 Thoughts I Had While Watching Last Night’s “Dancing With The Stars”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have no idea what’s happening right now but there’s hot people so I’m watching respectfully."</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>by Natasha Jokic</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BuzzFeed Staff</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<ol>
<li>
<span>Okay I get that the pros are opening the shows right now but I know what they look like. I want to drool over the new hot people.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>WHY DOES MAKS LOOK HOT NO MATTER WHO HE IS DANCING WITH. WHY DO THEY LOOK HOT BECAUSE OF HIM. WHY WHY WHY.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>Lochte really is trying to rehab his image, huh?</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>Look I don’t normally discriminate against short guys but… Victor, honey. You’re wearing like, </span><a href="https://www.buzznet.com/2013/04/whats-next/?chrome=1"><span>RDJ level of heels</span></a><span>.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>So wait - there’s two Victor’s? I thought there was Viktor with a K and Victor with a C. Did they spell one of their names wrong? Or have I been hallucinating? Because if I have I want a refund.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>Mark Ballas is the most fun person on this show right now send tweet.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>TOM AND ERIN PLEASE NEVER LEAVE US YOU ARE THE BEST HOSTS EVER ERIN YOU ARE SO PRETTY TOM YOU ARE LIKE THE COOL TV UNCLE </span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>I feel like this isn’t even gonna be a contest. You have literal gymnasts competing and then you have a race car driver. One of these things is not like the others, guys.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>HOLY SHIT YURI KATSUKI WEARS GLASSES RED ALERT RED ALERT CUTE NERD BOY WHO IS SEXY TOO whoops there go my panties oh well</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>Kristi Yamaguchi is a legend and we stan (and also kinda wanna pick her brain about Tonya)</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>Wait where did this Lolo guy come from I don’t remember him</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>Oh my god Viktor Nikiforov please tell me your secrets what shampoo do you use what crossroad demon did you sacrifice to so you could be so pretty</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</li>
<li><span>Oh my god Martina is going home. Okay saw that coming. But short Victor and hot nerd Yuuri get to stay so this is good.</span></li>
</ol><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mondays were for performing. Tuesdays for conditioning. Wednesdays were for dance selection for the following week, which left the rest of Wednesday and Thursday through Sunday for frantic practices, choreography, more conditioning. And in Yuuri’s case, every day of the week was a day for anxiety and nerves, trying to live up to the role that had been put upon him while maintaining his sanity and being surrounded by talented gorgeous people and Viktor (Not to say that Viktor wasn’t talented or gorgeous - he was. He was just on a whole other level than the rest of them). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On top of all of that, Tuesdays were also the day they were given their assignments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gathered in the now empty ballroom, the dancers and their partners were joined by Len, who was going to give them their dances for the week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “Gather ‘round, gather ‘round. This week is really about picking yourselves up and showing that you have what it takes. Of course, we always want to see if you have what it takes technically speaking, but this week we want to see the emotions. We want to see the fire that keeps you pushing through every obstacle thrown at you. Therefore, this week is going to be about your most memorable year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music would be up to them, and they would pull two different styles of dance and pick one of them by the end of the day and notify the production team. Len continued talking, but Yuuri stopped paying attention and looked around the room. Most of the competitors looked lost in thought or just lost. Surely they had a wealth of memorable years to choose from and were trying to sort through them all. Personal bests, world records, Olympic medals, marriages, children - so many of these people had rich lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri… wasn’t sure what he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they had left the stage, Yuuri had pulled the rumba and the quick step. Viktor pulled the Viennese waltz and the tango, and Yuuri didn’t really pay attention to what everyone else drew. If he was being honest, he was only interested in what Viktor and his newly found friends ended up with - but mostly Viktor. Yuuri supposed that it wasn’t very “rival” of him to be so interested, or maybe it was? No matter what image was being presented, he would always respect (and worship, honestly) Viktor’s artistry, and as long as he gave the producers the show they wanted he could deal with the rest of it. He was so lost in thought that he hardly noticed what was going on until Julianne had pulled him off stage and down the hall, on their way to the dance studio to start working. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a different part of the building, Viktor stood in an empty hallway with his phone in hand, staring at the screen as if it held the answer he was looking for. Eventually, he pressed his thumb to the screen, and the dial tone seemed to echo in the empty hallway as he brought the phone up to his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Viktor, what do you want? It’s late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor hummed deep in his throat. It was only eleven in Russia. “Hello to you too, Yakov.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to ask you again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, better not. Yakov got irritated when he had to repeat himself - something that had only grown worse in the years he had worked with Viktor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yakov,” he began quietly. “They want me to dance to my most memorable year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s easy,” the old man said gruffly. “You have any number of medals to pick from.  Why don’t you dance about one of those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because that feels cheap. Winning is the same year after year. You skate, you win, you go to boring dinners and banquets and do it all again and none of that has been memorable for me. Nor for a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, well then what about last year when you met that boy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Viktor insisted. “He’s here too and that wouldn’t be right. Besides you’ve probably seen that he doesn’t like me very much right now. He’s supposed to be my rival after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov laughed. “As if that boy could ever be a rival to you. He can barely pull together a sixth place finish and you have more gold at home than most people will see in a lifetime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just doesn’t feel right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor could hear shuffling in the background and imagined Yakov in the sitting room, settling into his favorite chair. He wondered where Lilia and Yurio were, but didn’t ask. Eventually, Yakov sighed. “Fine, then you must ask yourself this - What year changed everything for you? What year put your life on the path it is on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer to that was easy. “The year I came to live with you and Lilia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then there is your answer. It will be difficult, but when have you done anything the easy way, Vitya? Now may I please go to sleep?” It was easy to hear the years of care and love in Yakov’s tone, even if he didn’t like to show it. It was in the patience that he had for dealing with Viktor and his antics, his concern even when it was shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course Yakov. Thank you for listening to me.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Julianne started, leaning up against the mirror with her legs stretched out in front of her. “What’s your most memorable year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri flushed. “It’s kind of cliche, but the first year I skated in a competition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken Yuuri an embarrassing amount of time to settle on a memorable year. At first, he thought of dancing about the year he started skating, but he had been so young that he wasn’t sure he could remember it properly. There was also the year that he had seen Viktor skate for the first time but that… too personal. Not to mention, too “nice” - he wasn’t sure that they would let him do that when he was supposed to be trying to take down the “Living Legend” in competition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to come up with an idea on his own, he called Mari. She didn’t really have an answer for him - though they got along well as children, their lives had diverged when he had invested himself in skating and she spent more time at the onsen with their parents, and then they drifted further apart when he moved to America. Of course they loved each other and they were supportive, but their knowledge of each other hadn’t really gone past the surface level lately. He called Minako next, who had suggested the year he started skating as well, or his first ballet performance (that was a disaster and he told her so, there was no way he would dance about that) or his Senior debut. None of it felt right . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he called Yuuko. They talked about school and high school exams and getting to go to the US to train, growing up at Ice Castle together, and even the year they tried skating together (which was also the year they tried kissing and it didn’t work so great) and then she said one of her happiest days as his best friend was the day she saw his Junior debut. It was the first time she really saw him happy and at ease in a room full of people. A stadium of people. Yuuri argued that he didn’t place well at all so how was that memorable? Yuuko explained, sounding like she was explaining something to the triplets, that just because he didn’t win doesn’t mean he should forget about it. It was still worth doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Junior debut wasn’t really much to write home about,” he said. “I missed the podium and my coach didn’t really know what to do with me since I had learned figure skating a pretty unconventional way before that, but a friend reminded me that the experience wasn’t worthless just because I didn’t win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne made an encouraging gesture, waiting for him to go on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember that my coach was a stickler for the classics. He didn’t like any of this ‘new fad skating’ as he called it. He picked my costume out, which was just a white shirt and black pants - nothing flashy, you know? I didn’t want to look like a peacock out there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My friend Yuuko picked my music for me. I’ve never been good at doing something like that so I always let my coach or someone else do it. She picked this really pretty </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vj_S3A22noo">
    <span>instrumental version of Somewhere Only We Know by Keane </span>
  </a>
  <span>. At the time I thought it was really romantic, talking about wanting to share this space with someone who knew you like no one else did. I wanted that. I wanted to have someone understand why I love skating so much, why I spent more time at the rink than I did anywhere else. My family didn’t get it - they still don’t, but that’s okay, you know? I know they support me even if they don’t understand why I do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlocking his phone, Yuuri pulled it up on YouTube - the song, not the performance (which thank god didn’t make it to the internet) and played it for Julianne. She listened to it twice before nodding, and grinned at Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel about rumba?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri snorted. “Does it matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… Yes. But also no. No way are we doing a quick step to this. C’mon Katsuki, let’s get to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And that was Simone biles and Sasha Farber dancing a </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1cXD6_e0PM">
    <span>waltz </span>
  </a>
  <span>. Coming up after the break - Viktor and his partner Peta dancing the Viennese waltz. Don’t go anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crew called the commercial break just as Simone and Sasha were leaving the dance floor, heading back up the stairs to the balcony waiting area where the rest of the pairs had been watching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Simone bounded up the stairs, Yuuri wrapped her in a hug, while Kristi and Shawn wrapped them into a hug, resulting in a happy tangle of limbs and sequins. It was so much better to have people you were rooting for, who rooted for you, waiting after a performance where you could hug and cry and gush about all of the wonderful things they did. Yuuri mostly kept quiet during the gushing part, but smiled and nodded encouragingly. This week felt better already, and he hadn’t even danced yet. Surrounded by friends, however new, was something that Yuuri already loved. He knew that no matter how he performed - and slated to go after Viktor, he was sure he wouldn’t do nearly as well - he would have people here who supported him. He felt loved . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the commercial break came to an end, Viktor and Peta left the balcony, Viktor eyeing Yuuri with a strange look on his face as he walked past him. What was that for? Is he trying to tell me that he’s going to wipe the floor with me? No need to bother - I already know that’ll happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri watched in a daze as the pair took the stage and the lights adjusted for their dance. No one had seen Viktor dance during rehearsals all week or during the dress rehearsal earlier in the day. He had insisted on keeping it under wraps, and looked tense - almost angry - whenever someone asked about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom and Erin introduced the pair and then the whole room darkened as the introduction video clip played. It showed them working slowly through step sequences and arm placements, Viktor’s voice over it talking about how he knew that he was so blessed to have many memorable moments, but one stood out above the rest. The screen faded from them dancing to an old faded picture, one that could only be of Viktor and his parents. He had his father’s features, but his mother’s eyes. They were a beautiful family, and the hushed whispers around Yuuri seemed to agree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of that changed when Viktor’s voice over started again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t often talk about my family in interviews - almost never, actually. It’s not because we don’t get along! Not in the way most people think. My mother was sick most of my childhood. When she was well, we would skate together as a family. When she was not, my father would take me. Soon I began skating more and more, and my mother couldn’t go with me as often, but we found other ways to spend time together. She would sing me to sleep every night, we would read often. She died the year I was supposed to start skating professionally. She spent the first part of the year in the hospital, and when it was clear she would not come home, I spent every day with her only now I was the one singing to her when she would sleep. A month after- after everything, I moved to St. Petersburg to train, as we had planned. It was a year that changed the path of my life forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was hardly a dry eye in the house by the time the </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUzhydrxcoI">
    <span>music </span>
  </a>
  <span>started. Strains of a lullaby filtered through the room, haunting and resonating deep in the hearts of everyone who watched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri could see the story playing out in front of him. A small boy chasing after his mother, always reaching for her hand, skating on frozen ponds with her and his father, watching carefully as his mother grew weaker, holding her hand to support her rather than the other way around, his world shrinking to whatever room she was in at the time as he watched her waste away slowly. Aches and pains and sorrows, troubles and strains playing out through the music. By the end of the song, he could see Viktor carefully cradling his mother in her hospital bed, singing her to sleep with tears in his eyes, holding on as tightly as he could before he had to let her go. Watching as he cradled Peta in his arms, swaying with her on stage, it was easy to see the heartbreak that he carried with him. And when he set her down, walking away on his own Yuuri couldn’t help but choke back a sob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room exploded into applause and cheers as Viktor fell to his knees, shoulders shaking with emotion. Peta rushed to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and they sat there, waves of sound washing over the pair before the audience subsided and they were able to stand and make it over to Tom and Erin. Unsurprisingly, the hosts and all three judges were in tears, each commending Viktor on his stunning performance. Everyone on the balcony cheered when he received a nearly perfect score, agreeing that it was well deserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair walked off the stage to more thunderous applause, heading upstairs to relax for the remainder of the show. Yuuri was already standing at the bottom of the stairs. He caught at Viktor’s sleeve as he passed, a gesture so small that not a single cameraman thought to look at him and whispered pozdravleniya as the older man passed him. It was all he could say about a performance that tore at his heart, and Yuuri cursed the producer who thought to set them against each other - anyone could see the scales were tipped overwhelmingly in Viktor’s favor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did his best to block out the sounds of his video package, taking deep breaths in the darkness. Distractions were the last thing he needed, not with the feeling of Viktor’s sleeve still tingling on his fingers, and the knowledge of what he was about to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri hadn’t told a soul the true story of his first program. Yuuko only knew because she was the one who had suggested the music, sitting on the steps of Ice Castle after practice one evening. When he was younger, the song had sounded romantic. Longing for a special place where he could be truly understood by someone - by Viktor if he was being honest. He wanted to reach the other boy through skating, wanted to say that he understood his love of the ice and carried that in his own soul as well. But now, as an adult, Yuuri could see that it wasn’t that at all. It was full of longing and pain - knowing that everything was going to come to an end, and that the story was about going somewhere one last time, to enjoy a few hours together before the world changed them, forced them apart. It was about begging someone to let you into their heart, not knowing how or where to start, and waiting for them to take your hand in theirs. Yuuri understood the song now in a way that he hadn’t as a child, and felt that heaviness in his heart as he danced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he moved around the floor with Julianne, coming together and being forced apart again, always reaching, always trying to find each other but never quite getting there. Life wasn’t simple, but dancing was, and pouring his heart into dancing was natural. Carrying the heavy pain, the longing for a goal he might never accomplish, to desire to meet Viktor as an equal while knowing it might never happen, pushed Yuuri deeper into the </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KHJKj9GgsI">
    <span>music </span>
  </a>
  <span>, to a place he had so rarely found in skating in the last several years. It was beyond pain, beyond worry or fear, a place where he felt the music in his soul - a searing, scorching brand scarred onto his heart - and knew that this would be the best thing he had performed to date. He no longer worried about his movements, but let them flow through him, and by the time he came to himself, he was standing on the stage in a single spotlight, chest heaving with emotion as he stared at the balcony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A single pair of shocked blue eyes stared back at him, and to Yuuri it was as if the rest of the world had melted away. Had he done it? Had he finally reached Viktor? Did it even matter now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if it didn’t, it mattered to the judges, who praised him for finally finding his personality on stage. His score - tied with Viktor’s - reflected that, and Yuuri felt a selfish thrill that he had exceeded the producer’s expectations and had shown himself a true competitor on the show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without having a low score to worry about, Yuuri could safely check out for the rest of the show - applauding along when he should, congratulating his friends, and pointedly avoiding being on the same side of the room as Viktor, always trying to put as many people between them as possible. When the night ended with Lolo eliminated, Yuuri made his way back to his hotel as soon as possible. He felt scraped raw and emotionally bare, and couldn’t deal with press or well wishes, or even his family. He turned his phone off before he left the building, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way out into the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in his room, he lay spread eagle on the bed, not even bothering to shower - his jeans and t-shirt were comfortable enough, but he knew he should at least get the gunk out of his hair and off his face. Unfortunately, no one was there to remind him to do that at the moment. Phichit was spending a few days with Leo to give Yuuri room to breathe during what he knew had been an intense week. Laying there, boneless, staring at the ceiling, Yuuri felt the emotional cost of the week at full force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knock at the door broke him out of his reverie. With a groan, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and then to standing as he ambled toward the door. Maybe Phichit forgot his key? Or maybe it was the girls again, determined to celebrate another week. Yuuri wasn’t sure he had it in him tonight. He pulled the door open, and was faced with a very familiar pair of blue eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s time we talk, <em>rival</em>. May I come in?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there should be a playlist ready by the end of this fic!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>DUN DUN DUN</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I think it’s time we talk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>rival</span>
  </em>
  <span>. May I come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later on, Yuuri would try and tell himself that he shut the door in Viktor’s face with grace and poise, but in that moment, he squeaked like a mouse and scrambled to shut it, leaning against it and taking heaving breaths as he tried to figure out what the actual fuck was going on lately. New friends? Okay, he could deal with that. Tied with Viktor on the show this week? Weird, but still in the realm of believable (barely). Viktor fucking Nikiforov outside of his door, calling him his rival and asking to talk?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nope. No. No way. 起きていません. Not even if hell froze over (actually, had it? He should check). He had clearly lost his mind, and everything since leaving Detroit had been a hallucination. Obviously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recognizing that, though, didn’t stop the hallucination from knocking on his door again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri - may I call you Yuuri?” The door softened Viktor’s voice on the other side, but didn’t deaden it completely. “Or would you prefer Katsuki? Perhaps you think rivals should be more formal with each other. As much as I don’t mind this lovely hallway, I’m afraid people might begin to stare if I talk at this door much longer. May I please come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, when in Oz, follow the yellow brick road to your full mental breakdown right? Yuuri pushed himself off of the door and ran his fingers through his hair before realizing there was still gel in it - great , now it was probably sticking up everywhere. He opened the door anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh- come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you, I will.” Yuuri couldn’t help but notice that he walked in like he owned the place, and settled in the chair at the desk before motioning Yuuri to sit across from him on Phichit’s bed. Talk about confidence. Yuuri did as he was gestured to do and sat on the bed, crossing his legs and focused on his hands instead of looking at Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” he mumbled. “You said you wanted to talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His visitor brightened considerably. “Yes, I did! It seems that you and I are rivals now, according to reporters! It has been a long time since I’ve had a new one of those. Christophe and I face off in competitions often, but no one has come close to challenging either of us in a long time - except maybe that Canadian. But seeing as Chris and I are such good friends, it makes sense that we should be friends too, da? I must say, I am surprised that you were so unremarkable at Sochi - your dancing tonight was riveting! Not as good as mine of course, but your performance values certainly made up the difference!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throughout this surprising outburst of, well, A Lot (he could hear the capitalization in his head), Yuuri sat there dumbfounded and stared at Viktor. Even as the older man kept talking, going on about friendly competitions, and how Yuuri would have to improve greatly in the technical aspects to keep up with him, Viktor seemed so animated and happy to have a rival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Viktor,” Yuuri interrupted. “You do know that being rivals means that we’re not on the same side, right? We’re not going to be best friends just because I’m competing against you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, technically speaking, my dancing was better than yours. Yours might have been more complicated, but mine was cleaner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, shit. I just talked back to Viktor Nikiforov. Oh my god, what if he hates me now? Wait, why do I care if he hates me? He doesn’t even know me! Stop it stop it stop it! Yuuri looked at him, mortified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outburst had shocked Viktor into silence, but that didn’t last long as he dissolved into laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right!” he admitted. “I could have gone with a simpler dance I suppose, but I wanted to push things and I decided against it. And just because we are competing doesn’t mean we can’t talk. You’re friends with several of the gymnasts, correct?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway - yes, I was certainly reaching with the scope of that dance, and it might have shown a bit. You, however, have such a strong grip on the fundamentals. Tell me, what is your background other than skating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, when in Oz, right? Yuuri shrugged. “I danced before I skated, and kept training in ballet. I added other dance styles while in Japan, and then added- well, added another one in Detroit. It’s helped a lot with the skating, even if it hasn’t been enough. Maybe it’ll be enough here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor looked at him oddly. Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was a considering kind of look like he was trying to figure out what to ask next, or if it was something closer to an inspection than found Yuuri wanting or lacking in some area. He wasn’t sure which one terrified him more. It felt as though he was under a microscope, and he waited for… He wasn’t sure. But whatever was coming, he was sure it was bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that simple, though - it never was. Viktor had always surprised him as a skater, and it made sense that he would shock him as a rival too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward, elbows sitting on top of his knees, Viktor looked at Yuuri with an intensity that was frightening and said, “Do you know why I’m here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri flinched slightly. “To tell me that I’ll never beat you and that I should stop trying? Or that I’ll never be good enough to be your rival?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his (continued) surprise, Viktor looked hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing like that. I’m here to tell you that you don’t need to worry about me . I have always considered my only true competition to be myself - beating what I scored the year before, inventing something that I have never performed, always finding a way to keep myself and other people on the edge and in suspense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something about the way Viktor said that last part, the way it sounded so personal and intimate when he talked about keeping people on the edge. Yes, he meant in suspense as he said, but Yuuri couldn’t also help but think about it in a more personal and less appropriate context - in the way that he had dreamed about often as a teenager (and less often as an adult, but still) where Viktor was keeping him balancing on the edge of something else entirely. Something equally thrilling if not more so, and far more personal. Even now, sitting here and hardly daring to think the actual words, Yuuri could feel his face flame. God, how embarrassing. Think of something else. Think of… cupcakes. Katsudon. Flubbing an axel. Literally anything but </span>
  <b>that. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looked up at Viktor, the older man looked amused. Taking a deep break, Yuuri tried to recover his composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” he said slowly, “this really is the ‘don’t bother’ talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. You shouldn’t worry about me - you should worry about yourself. The self from three weeks ago, two weeks ago, last week, four hours ago. The only person you should ever worry about beating is you from the last time you performed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri’s eyes widened. He understood, objectively, on an intellectual level - it was an easy enough concept but… To compete against himself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m nothing though. I’m just one of a bunch of skaters that the JSF certified. I’m a dime-a-dozen. Competing against myself would be like competing against shadows,” Yuuri mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor sat back and looked almost angry. “Against shadows? Yuuri, you’re the top skater in your country. You are one of more than 200,000 figure skaters in the world - more than that even. And out of the handful that make it in the competitive world, you have already made it to the highest level of competition. You have consistently scored well at every competition until Sochi. And now you are competing on a show with top athletes from many different fields. Tell, me,” he said softly. “How is that nothing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You... “ Yuuri wasn’t sure what to say. Were there words for the level of shock that he felt? “You know who I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do. You’re a brilliant skater, made it to the Grand Prix Final, and not to mention my rinkmate Yuri is obsessed with you,” he said with a chuckle. “Though, don’t let him know that you know that. He thinks your jumps could use some work, but your spins and step sequences are very good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was just too much. Crumpling forward, Yuuri rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, knocking his glasses askew in the process. His idol and childhood crush, here, talking to him about skating. Making friends with sports legends. The Russian Punk not hating his guts. “What do you want from me?” he groaned. “I don’t get it. Or you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a rustling of fabrics as Viktor stood up from his chair and settled next to Yuuri on the bed, leaning back and supporting his weight on his hands behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do, though. I saw your performance tonight,” Viktor said frankly. “You danced about your first skating event, you made music with your movements. You danced like I skate, like you were shouting a message to the world and dared them to ignore you. You did all of that, and looked me right in the eyes at the end of it, almost like a challenge or a question. What were you asking me, Yuuri?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Do you see me now? Do you see that I know you? I could be closer to you than anyone if you would let me. Won’t you? Please? Please let me get close to you and stay there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t say that. Not only was it stupidly sappy and overly emotional, he wasn’t sure how he meant it. Yuuri had always wanted Viktor to see him as an equal, as someone who was worthy of sharing the ice with him - a point that was hammered home in Sochi when Viktor didn’t even seem to recognize him as a skater. And for the longest time, Yuuri had wanted Viktor. In an abstract sense, maybe - the way you think distantly about someone you hardly know when you’re alone in the shower or in bed in the middle of the night. Those two emotions had almost always existed side by side, and they had become so tangled that he wasn’t sure he could say even now which one he meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice was gentle, reminding him that the other man was waiting for an answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he grumbled in reply. “I don’t know that I want to answer that right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Viktor stood up and turned to face Yuuri. He gently tugged at his hands and slid a slightly bent finger under Yuuri’s chin to lift his face so they could see each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, when you are ready to answer, I’ll be here,” Viktor assured him, his voice impossibly soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment was there and then gone in an instant before Viktor brightened and said with a laugh, “But in the meantime, you had better work on your dancing if you want to be able to beat me! Perhaps I’ll see you in the studio this week. Goodnight, Yuuri!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, with as little fanfare as he had shown up with, Viktor was gone. Nothing was different in the hotel room - there was no sign to show that he had been there. Nothing outside of Yuuri’s own head at least, which was a maelstrom of emotions, confusion chief among them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling out his phone, he sent a text to Phichit before falling back on his friend’s bed and rolled onto his side. He really needed to get some sleep after all that. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Phichit, come back soon okay? I need my best friend here. Just talked to Viktor and… WOW. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Wow? What wow? HOW WOW? OMG DID HE CONFESS HIS LOVE? DID YOU CONFESS YOURS?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Don’t lie to me bestie, I know you’re in love with him not just his skating. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yuuri</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yurri</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>stewiemommommom.gif</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>YUURI answer me dude</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Leo is here and he has questions</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Are you okay</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Did you die from feels</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>YUURI KATSUKI I WILL TEAR UP OUR JOINT CUSTODY AGREEMENT FOR OUR CHILDREN IF YOU DO NOT ANSWER ME DO NOT MAKE ME DEPRIVE OUR CHILDREN OF THEIR MOTHER</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon we are talking then and you cannot get out of it</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri collapsed on his bed with a groan. He knew better - he was getting sweat and general grossness on the blankets - but any thought of moving was enough to make him want to cry. Everything hurt. His hair even hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pichit,” he mumbled into the blankets, voice muffled, “Mandy is trying to kill us. Make sure they take my ashes home to Hasetsu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his bed, Phichit snorted from behind his Switch. “Sure, buddy,” he said absently. “Does that mean I can have your Gameboy? And your Pokemon games?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The threat to his beloved Gameboy and game collection was enough to rouse Yuuri, who rolled over and grabbed a pillow to throw it blindly at his friend. Phichit dodged it easily, barely looking up from his island. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dom doesn’t appreciate that very much you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, tell Tom that he should pay more attention to his radishes than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ Rude . You know they’re turnips. So, how was practice, other than life-threatening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, it hadn’t been bad, just exhausting. This was the week they would pull songs and dances from movies and television, which meant there was plenty of material for them to work with for the opening number. So far, they had learned choreography for scenes from Dirty Dancing, Footloose, Grease, and Rocky Horror Picture Show. The pairs learned choreography for each song and then were divided into groups, and Yuuri had been put in the group for Dirty Dancing. It was incredibly technical and he enjoyed the challenge immensely, and told Phichit so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he hadn’t told Phichit was that Viktor had kept… flirting? That was probably a little too optimistic, but it was the only word that Yuuri had for what happened (not that he had much experience with flirting, or any really). Every time there was a water break, Viktor was nearby, watching, slowly drinking from his water bottle. They never actually spoke to each other, but Yuuri was constantly aware of where Viktor was in the room. It was like there was some sort of Hot Russian Radar in his head, making it so that no matter what was going on, or how many extra dancers there were in the room today, he could always find Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t made practice easy. Part of Yuuri was always aware of Viktor - where he was, what he was working on, how stupidly good he looked with his stupid work ethic and stupid dance skills (maybe that was a little unfair) - while the other part was trying to focus on choreography. Every time he flubbed a step or lost count, Julianne looked at him with concern, as if she was deciding whether or not to tell him to take a break, or ask if he was okay, or at least demand that he get his head out of his ass. Even with four other pairs on stage with him and a few ensemble dancers, a mistake was going to stick out like a sore thumb. After the last performance, Yuuri had set a bar that he couldn’t fall below again if he wanted to prove the producers wrong - failing to meet expectations would only help prove to them that he wasn’t really competition material, and he wouldn’t let that happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That last fact was driven home when several production staff stopped by rehearsal to observe. Yuuri did tell Phichit how they made some small adjustments to dance formations, talking to Mandy about popularity and viewing numbers, and also made adjustments to spacing for the camera angles that they would need on stage - better to practice that now than the last minute and create issues on the day of the show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri and Julianne were moved to the front of their group by the same producer who had lectured him about creating a rivalry, and he thought he saw a particular gleam in her eye as she directed them to their new spot. Was she doing this on purpose? Did she think he would crumble under pressure, create another Sochi and completely bomb? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but run through every worst case scenario at breakneck speed in his head while it happened, and during the following run through where he flubbed several more steps than usual and turned the wrong way once or twice. Yuuri’s face burned red with shame and anger, furious that he couldn’t get himself under control and dance the way he was sure he could. Those feelings propelled him through the rest of practice and a speedy walk back to the hotel where he found himself wanting to scream into a pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a pillow over his face, he waited for his best friend to say something, anything, to bring him back to a more stable space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the Thai put down his Switch, he looked at Yuuri frankly before saying, “Okay, so you bombed practice. How many times have we done that before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot. And how many times did we get back up and try again?” Phichit looked at him with an arched eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sighed. “Every time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what did we do first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh god, please no drinking. No, no, no. “We… went out?” he asked hesitantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit looked pleased with himself. “We went out. Now take a shower and change clothes. I love you like a brother, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be embarrassed if you go out like that. We have some sightseeing to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dinosaurs, Yuuri reflected, were a better option than what he thought Phichit had in mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had taken a taxi to the </span>
  <a href="https://tarpits.org/">
    <span>La Brea Tar Pit </span>
  </a>
  <span>where they spent the better part of their afternoon wandering around bubbling lakes of asphalt and looking at fossils and drawings of animals that wandered the area during the Ice Age. For hours, they didn’t talk about dancing, or skating, or Viktor, or even what they were going to do when the show was over. For one whole afternoon, Yuuri and Phichit were just best friends playing tourist, watching kids play in the nearby park and eating lunch at the nearby taco truck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was something that they didn’t have the opportunity to do back in Detroit. Most often, their rest days were spent being as lazy as possible, lounging on the couch watching The King and The Skater, or drooling over what was on the Food Network while they ate their bland and healthy meals. There had never really been anything worth playing tourist for in Detroit anyway, outside of museums that didn’t interest either of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As clouds skittered across the sky, they stretched out on the grass of the park next to each other, soaking in the weak sunshine of the afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to stay in Detroit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question jolted Yuuri out of his half-asleep drifting. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit made a noise that sounded like you know what I mean, answer the question or maybe pretty sure I don’t have to explain that question more . “I mean, after all of this. After the show. I want you to keep skating, but if you choose not to… Well, that’s up to you. What are you going to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of what to do after leaving skating hadn’t occurred to Yuuri yet. All he could see in front of him was the mountain of failures from the last season and how he could never hide that, no matter if he came back to skating or not. He had graduated with a four year degree and could go home, he supposed, but that meant facing his family. His visa was only good while he was either in school or skating, so he had to make a choice and soon. So far, he hadn’t officially announced that he would leave the sport so he could stay, but he couldn’t stretch that out indefinitely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit didn’t rush him to answer. They understood that sometimes the other didn’t always have the words ready in English to answer, and the smattering of each other’s languages that they understood didn’t always cover what they were trying to express. And language barrier aside, that just wasn’t who Phichit was. He understood how Yuuri needed to think before he spoke, and how he had to take time to collect himself in situations like this. It was, he supposed, part of why they had stayed as close as they had for the last five years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t go home yet,” he said haltingly. “I miss my family, I miss the onsen, but going back now would be-” shameful. Yuuri couldn’t say the word - that feeling of shame was so overwhelming and so raw that he had to keep it to himself. Some things were too private to share. “-wrong. I want to bring home something to make them proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got an education at an American university, and you got to travel the world and show everyone how talented you are,” Phichit protested. “How could they not be proud of just you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend sounded irritated, but Yuuri didn’t have the heart to ask if he was irritated with him or with his family. Phichit’s family was very open with their love and support of one another, and whenever Yuuri saw them on a video call they were so vocal with each other about their love and feelings that it made his head spin. No matter how many times he had tried to explain that his family was more reserved than that, and the confusing tangle of emotions and expectations that Japanese culture had bred over the years, Phichit still had trouble grasping the fact that Yuuri felt as though he needed a concrete victory to present to his parents as proof that he was worth something. To him, being yourself was enough of a reason for family to love you. Yuuri wasn’t so sure he believed that, or if it would be enough for his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want them to know that I did something valuable,” he protested weakly. “Something that matters, you know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to win to do that, Yuuri. You’re valuable, no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning his head to look at his friend, Yuuri tried to smile but didn’t really feel it. “Thanks, Phicit. Maybe one day I’ll be able to believe that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri grabbed his phone, almost blinded when the screen awoke to tell him that it was 3:47 in the morning. Rolling over, he shoved his face into the pillow and tried to clear his head so he could sleep. In the bed next to his, Phichit was snoring gently while Blanche shared his pillow and Dorothy and Rose curled up in a nest made from his sweatshirt next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin felt… wrong. Like it was too big and too small for his body at the same time. It wasn’t an itch, but something like it that kept him restless and unable to settle down. Yuuri’s brain felt much the same way - buzzing and uncomfortable and full of so much noise that he couldn’t pick out a single incoherent thought or feeling from the bunch. If he stayed in bed much longer without anything to do or focus on, he knew he would spiral so Yuuri grabbed his practice bag, threw on jeans and a t-shirt, and headed to the only place he knew he could go at this time of night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a long walk to the studio building, and the security guard let him in without a word after Yuuri showed him his ID. Yuuri reasoned that it was LA and that this probably wasn’t the strangest thing this man had seen, but didn’t look the gift horse of practice time in the mouth. As quickly as he could, he changed into his favorite Mizuno sweats and a t-shirt and for a moment he was back in the locker room in Detroit, sneaking in extra practice long after Celestino had told him to go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hallways were quiet as he made his way to the room where they had been practicing that morning, the hour so late that even the cleaning crew was finished and had gone home for the night. With every step closer to his sanctuary, Yuuri felt more and more relaxed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he stepped foot in the studio, though, the tension returned with a vengeance. Yuuri wasn’t alone in there . Leaning against the ballet barre, Viktor Nikiforov was staring out the windows into the early morning Los Angeles haze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God , he looked beautiful. The streetlights and neon signs of nearby buildings threw Viktor’s profile into sharp relief, only softened by his trademark fringe. His pale skin and silver hair were golden in the orange-y light, standing out starkly against his black t-shirt and pants. He looked remote, untouchable, inhuman . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri froze in the doorway as Viktor turned to look at him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll, uh- I’ll go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor, whose eyes had widened in alarm, held out a hand as if to stop him. “No, no,” he said hurriedly, “Please, don’t go. Are you here to practice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mutely, Yuuri nodded. He held up his bag as if that was an answer.  It was some kind of answer, because Viktor waved him into the room, but didn’t move from his space at the barre. With a glance in his direction, Yuuri put his bag down in the corner and grabbed his phone and earbuds. It looked as though Viktor wasn’t going to leave, so Yuuri decided that he would do his best to ignore him. A few taps at his screen later, the </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpmILPAcRQo">
    <span>song </span>
  </a>
  <span>started to fill his ears and Yuuri took a deep breath before he started to move. The steps were a mix of salsa and mambo, and Yuuri closed his eyes and imagined that he was dancing with Julianne, trying to match her imaginary footwork. The men in the pairs had more complicated steps than the women, even though every professional dancer in the group made it look simple. With his eyes closed, Yuuri could imagine that he was alone in Minako’s studio again, and he executed every step flawlessly.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'm akitoes on tumblr and violettdelights on twitter, and you should come chill w/ me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yuuri Katsuki was a confusing man. If he was being honest, Yuuri was part of the reason that Viktor was up so late, wandering through Los Angeles and eventually into the studio. Thoughts of his disastrous programs at Sochi, the banquet, the other programs that Viktor had watched nearly obsessively afterwards, and his behavior since joining the show crowded for space and attention in Viktor’s head and he wasn’t sure where to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In twenty years of competing, Viktor had never faced a man like him that he was aware of. Or maybe it was just that for the first time, Viktor was aware of someone as a person rather than a skater and he was shocked to discover the depth the other man had. Don’t forget Chris , he reminded himself. Chris, though, hardly counted because while Viktor knew the man and considered him a friend, Chris kept everything on the surface - even things he shouldn’t - for everyone to see. There was no guessing with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he had Yuuri in the same room, dancing in the shadows of the studio as far away from Viktor as he could politely manage, performing every piece of choreography with a level of precision that was nearly inhuman. Where was this when he skated? Viktor wanted to be angry at the man - if he was this good in the studio, what happened to him on the ice? It wasn’t fair that this immense talent was confined to one location! He wanted someone like this to beat him. If Yuuri could skate like he could dance, there was a real chance that Viktor could lose more than just his heart to the man. It was very possible that he could lose a gold medal or two to him as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of losing his heart to Yuuri had shocked him once upon a time, but he’d had so long - months now - to live with the image of Yuuri flushed, eyes sparkling while he danced, talking to Viktor like he was a person and not an idea that it hardly phased him anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, what bothered him now was that Yuuri seemed to act as though the banquet had meant nothing to him. He was skittish around Viktor, and cold. When Viktor had rescued him from the clutches of Ryan Lochte in New York, he had expected gratitude, or at least flirting in return. Instead he had found a Yuuri who would hardly look him in the eye, and played off his skating Viktor’s program as though it was something anyone would do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now… now they were rivals? When Viktor had been cornered by a reporter and asked about whether he was worried about Yuuri Katsuki stealing first place from him, Viktor’s first instinct was to say that Yuuri deserved first place and more, and shame on the reporter for insinuating otherwise. Then, he wanted to say that he would rather work hard and lose to someone like Yuuri than win against anyone else. Neither of those answers being appropriate, he had pasted a smile on his face and gave some vague answer before making his escape. That had been uncomfortable enough, but even worse was when he had tried to approach Yuuri about their rivalry. Yuuri seemed so downtrodden, expecting Viktor to tell him to get out of his way and that he wasn’t good enough - had the man never seen himself skate? Or dance? He was better than Viktor in a hundred ways, even if Viktor’s scores had outstripped his so far. Instead, he had tried to encourage him to compete against himself, and that seemed to push him further into some darkness as he insisted that he was nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was as though every accomplishment meant nothing to the man. Viktor almost wanted to ask him when it would be enough, what it would take to make him happy, but that was too personal a question for the time being. Instead, he had asked Yuuri what he had been trying to say with his program, why he had been staring at Viktor as though he was a drowning man and Viktor was the only one who could save him, and he received no answer there either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor knew what he wanted the answer to be. He wanted Yuuri to say that he understood him, and that he understood how lonely and cold life was out on the ice. He wanted Yuuri to tell him that he wasn’t going to be alone anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he had confessed this to Mila over the phone afterwards, she had tutted at him and told him that he wouldn’t get anywhere if he didn’t talk to the man while Georgi cried about unrequited love and Yuri retched in the background while calling him a “gross old man”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Viktor became tired of staring at the skyline and the orange lighting that seemed to flood everything in Los Angeles after dark and turned to watch Yuuri. He appeared to be imagining dancing with a partner while going through some of this morning’s choreography with his eyes closed and Viktor only thought about it for a second before crossing the room and joining him, slipping into the dancing space created by Yuuri’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his imagination it was a romantic moment, where Yuuri would open his eyes and smile at Viktor while they continued dancing, perhaps followed by Viktor pulling Yuuri in close before dipping him low and bringing him back up so they would be face to face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In reality, Yuuri froze and his eyes opened wide with shock before he stepped back and pulled his earbuds out, babbling so quickly it was incoherent. When Yuuri flushed, Viktor hoped that it was because he was surprised and not disgusted, and the look of hurt must have shown on his face because Yuuri started babbling apologies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri, Yuuri,” he said quietly, in a tone that he hoped was soothing. “I’m sorry if I scared you. You just looked so lonely dancing by yourself that I thought you might want a partner. Someone to practice with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor watched carefully, trying not to get his hopes up, while Yuuri appeared to wrestle with his choices and come to a decision. Neither of them were familiar with competing as pairs, and while they were already comfortable with their own dance partners, surely learning to dance with someone else wouldn’t be difficult? Besides, Viktor reasoned, it wasn’t as though they were learning to dance together for the first time. Yuuri had already shown that he was more than capable of leading Viktor in any dance that he cared to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can lead? If you would like, of course,” Viktor said hopefully. “And then we can switch and practice my choreography? I’m in the group for Footloose so it is less of a partner dance and more of just pairs, but I would appreciate it. Consider it studying your rival, if you would like.” He cursed himself for sounding repetitive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri blanched. What about what Viktor had just said upset him? He hadn’t said or done anything inappropriate, had he? Viktor knew that he had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth or being blunt, but it was never done maliciously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like an eternity, Yuuri nodded, and then looked at his phone before looking at Viktor and the speaker system. “I don’t think I have an adapter. Is it okay if we just use my phone speakers? They’re not that loud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could dance in silence for all Viktor cared, but he settled for a shrug before holding his hand out to Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took them a few tries before they could coordinate their steps, but soon they were working through the choreography for Yuuri’s group. As the music played through tinny speakers, they moved smoothly through salsa steps, three step turns, and even the individual choreography (skipping the lift) before going through it all again. Viktor could remember the last time they had danced the salsa - they had been much closer and much drunker, and the dance had carried a heat that seared itself into his soul. This dance, while still seductive, was less so. It was as if there was a pane of glass between Yuuri and Viktor, their dancing one remove from their partner and not at all connected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Viktor stepped back and crossed his arms. “Yuuri, if this is how you dance next week even those in the bottom three from Monday will crush you. Where is the fire? The passion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked up at him with thinly veiled irritation. “What’s wrong with it? The steps are there! I’ve practiced this routine until the room is spinning - it’s fine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I’m not saying the steps aren’t fine. They are. It’s you that’s the problem. You’re somewhere else. Why can you not be here, dancing with me? Where do you go when you close your eyes and dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This seemed to shut Yuuri up, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times as he started to answer and then seemed to think better of it. “The ballet studio back home,” he ground out, looking at his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps this was why Yuuri’s skating had always been lackluster - he was harder to get through to than a brick wall, and showed no signs of letting anyone in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said. “Close your eyes. I’m going to lead this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yuuri did as he was told, Viktor stepped into his space and placed Yuuri’s hand on his shoulder and took the other in his own. He was standing closer than was strictly necessary, but he reasoned that it was to watch Yuuri’s reactions and to keep an eye on his reactions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretend you’re back home at the ballet studio,” he said quietly, voice just above a whisper. “Imagine what the room looks like. Pretend that you’re standing there and that you can hear the music. I’m going to count us in and then we’ll start dancing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Viktor started to move, taking them through the opening of the routine, hand firmly on Yuuri’s waist as he guided him. He murmured encouragements or reminders to relax, to let Viktor lead, to stop worrying whenever his brow creased in frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor leaned in close and whispered, “When I tell you to, Yuuri, I want you to open your eyes. Keep the same pace, the same motions, just let yourself feel it. Open your eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost faltered when Yuuri looked up at him, brown eyes just a few shades from black in the darkness. His pupils were blown wide - certainly due to the lack of light, Viktor reasoned - and his breathing shallow as they continued to dance. They moved through the same steps again and again, not separating when they were supposed to, only resetting for the beginning of the dance again. With each round, they seemed to move closer together until his breath stirred the hair that ended just above Yuuri’s glasses. Yuuri’s hand had somehow found its way up Viktor’s shoulder to brush the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and Viktor was afraid of what might break this spell. This, this, was what he had been missing since Sochi. It may not have carried the same fire and passion as their dances before, but for the first time since this show had started, he felt like he was seeing the real Yuuri underneath the aloofness and distance. His fingers tightened their grip on the fabric of his shirt, pulling Yuuri closer to him until they were close enough to breathe each other’s air. God , he was so beautiful. Viktor had almost forgotten what it was like to see Yuuri without those walls keeping people out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walls that went right back up a moment later, taking another part of Viktor’s heart with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- uh, I should go,” Yuuri stammered, face noticeably red even in the low light. “Thank you for practicing with me, but… yeah. I need to get back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor watched, stunned into stillness, as Yuuri gathered his belongings and nearly tripped over himself leaving the room. Already it felt as though there was a pulling in his chest, knowing that the one person he wanted more than anyone or anything was gone from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Viktor knelt down to re-tie his shoe and then decided that the floor was much better than the barre again before laying down as if he was going to make a snow angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri Katsuki,” he said quietly. “Yuuri. Come back to me, lyubimy. ”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry not sorry. i hope you enjoy your pining and emotional turmoil with a side of media rivalry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If Yuuri never saw another sewing needle again, it would be too soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing on the small pedestal, arms out to his sides, Yuuri felt very much like a pincushion as adjustments were made to his costume for this week. He’d had fun coming up with the idea with Julianne, and creating the choreography with her for it, and even practicing on the stage, but he was not having fun getting his </span>
  <a href="https://filmmusiccentral.files.wordpress.com/2017/09/maxresdefault.jpg">
    <span>costume </span>
  </a>
  <span>fitted at all. His red pants had gold braid pinned to the side of it (and he was convinced that at least one of those pins had broken skin, but he wasn’t about to argue with a woman wielding more sharp things) and his jacket cuffs were still too long. The blue sash over his white jacket needed to be sewn in place or at least have a snap sewn on it so it wouldn’t move while he was dancing. He was sure that somewhere, Julianne was probably facing a costume torture of her own, but he was also sure her dress had enough fabric that she was less at risk of being turned into a human pincushion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yuuri was asked what he wanted to do for movie and television week, his answer had been easy. At nine years old, he had watched the animated Anastasia movie, begged his mother to buy the VHS of it, and proceeded to watch the movie so often that he wore out that copy and two more after it, singing and dancing along as much as he could without actually understanding the English words, and even choosing to skate to some of the songs with Yuuko after practice. He didn’t need to know the words to know the emotions, he told Yuuko, as he pulled her into a childish waltz step in the lobby of Ice Castle. It was easily one of his favorite movies as a child, and was furious when he found out that Anastasia wasn’t a Disney princess and therefore would never be in a Disney park he might ever visit and would never be able to actually meet her. At the time, he wasn’t sure who he wanted to be more, so he would often switch with Yuuko and they would take turns playing Anastasia while the other was Dimitri. Takashi sometimes demanded that they let him play too, and because of his size he was usually Vlad. No one wanted to be Rasputin, and sometimes they would pretend Mari was without telling her, running away with Vicchan nipping at their heels instead of trying to attack “Rasputin” like Pooka did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved that movie, and the job that he showed when laughing and talking about it decided the whole thing. He and Julianne had crafted a dance for the two of them to </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9qgtga5mz0">
    <span>Once Upon a December </span>
  </a>
  <span>. They would dance to the music box version of the song, and had already practiced without music today, and would dance with music and costumes again later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once his costume fitting was complete, Yuuri joined Kristi and Simone in the audience as they watched Ryan dance to one of the songs from Transformers with a little too much enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, how much more of a bro can he be,” Simone giggled, holding up her phone to take a picture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristi and Yuuri made noises of agreement but didn’t say anything. The dance steps were actually fairly good, but Yuuri certainly never would have picked music like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat there and made small talk for a while, occasionally commenting on some of the other dances when something surprised them, or making sympathetic noises when something didn’t go right. Soon they were joined by Natalie and then Shawn, who had temporarily dyed her hair bright red for her costume. Several more dances went by as they talked, and talking eventually turned into wondering when they would break for lunch, which was called as soon as James and Sharna had finished their rehearsal of something between a line dance and a jive.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally made it to the freedom of the cafeteria, Yuuri unpacked his bento box while Kristi opened up the burrito bowl she had ordered and Natalie and Shawn went to get their food. It was at that moment that Viktor chose to walk in and stop at their table, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair across Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri,” he purred, “I heard you’re dancing to Once Upon a December. I see that your interest in Russian things continues.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only the things that are worth being interested in,” he shot back, eyebrow raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a moment for Yuuri to realize what he said, and when the weight of his words hit him, he looked between Viktor and Kristi - the latter of which was trying very hard not to laugh while the former was actually laughing - with eyes wide with shock and his hand clapped over his mouth. Why does whatever mental filter I have completely malfunction around Viktor? This is even worse than the last time, oh my god I want to die please just let lightning strike me right here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The universe was exactly as cruel as Yuuri thought it was, because there was no magical lightning strike indoors to put him out of his misery. Instead, his idol and one of the greatest figure skaters in the women's field were both laughing at him. Yuuri shoved his bento box forward on the table and let his head fall forward with a thunk, the cool plastic quickly warming up from the heat of his blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their laughter was disrupted by a phone, which dinged as though a text message had come in. It dinged again, and again a few moments later. Who wasn’t answering his phone? Yuuri looked up, ready to glare as forcefully as his timid self was able to at whoever was being so rude until he realized that it was his phone that was dinging. Fishing it out of his bag, he saw that Phichit was marathon texting him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Hamster Master: Yuuri I hate to break it to you</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Hamster Master: But I think you broke twitter</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Hamster Master: recording.mov</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Hamster Master: Why is there a video of you sassing Viktor</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Hamster Master: WHY ARE YOU SASSING VIKTOR I THOUGHT YOU LOVED HIM WHY ARE YOU SUCH A DISASTER</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Hamster Master: Literally who are you and what have you done with my best friend i’m worried about you dude</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With shaking hands, Yuuri clicked on the screen recording, which showed a video posted to twitter of his and Viktor’s exchange literal minutes ago taken entirely out of context. All that was shown was Viktor greeting Yuuri and asking his question and Yuuri’s reply. It cut off immediately after that and didn’t show Viktor laughing about it, only showed his and Kristi’s shocked faces. The tweet underneath the video read “looks like that katsuki-nikiforov isn’t fake after all. wonder what happened and why katsuki snapped at him?”. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span><em>Fuck my life. My entire existence.</em> </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>First, STOP CHANGING YOUR NAME IN MY PHONE.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Second, please kill me. Please.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Third, I hate the internet. </span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>This was, without a doubt, the worst thing to happen to Yuuri in the last week - and that included whatever the hell had happened in the studio with Viktor (which he was still trying to process, and was not ready to seriously think about yet). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All throughout the room, Yuuri could hear whispers and was sure they were about him. Had he just ruined everything with one thoughtless comment? The back of Yuuri’s neck prickled as if people were watching him from out of his field of vision, and he was afraid to look up and see if anyone was actually looking at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone dinged again, and Yuuri was tempted to throw it across the room. If Phichit was texting him again with some other fail that had taken over the internet, he was going to go home to Hasetsu and hide in the ninja house forever, becoming some kind of urban legend that haunted the halls and screamed in the middle of the night or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t Phichit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the production department, requesting a meeting as soon as possible, understanding that production was currently on a lunch break and may not be immediately available.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head hung low in shame, Yuuri stood up from the table and headed toward the exit, the whispers and glances amplified to gossip and outright stares in his head. He couldn’t look at Kristi, who was asking him what was wrong, or Viktor, who he assumed was staring at him like the rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri jolted when the door opened, feeling shaky as he walked in and sat across the desk from the producer - the same chair that he sat in last time. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri had never been the kind of student who was called to the principal’s office, but he was pretty sure that it felt a lot like this. Sitting outside the producer’s office, he was in an uncomfortable chair, and the air conditioner vent seemed to be pointed directly at him. There was a secretary in the other corner of the room who was pointedly ignoring him. He felt about two inches tall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened and he jumped before being ushered inside to the same chair that he sat in the last time. Yuuri looked at the producer and realized that she didn’t look all that different, although he didn’t know why he would expect her to. She had the same blonde hair, the same earrings and necklace, just a different colored shirt under the jacket. She looked like exactly the type of person Yuuri didn’t want to be in trouble with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be starting in just a moment,” she said curtly. “There is someone else that we’re waiting on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who? What could have been so bad that they needed someone else in this meeting? Was it another producer? No, it was the studio lawyer. It had to be the lawyer, and if Yuuri’s smartass comment got him fired from the show he would never be able to go back to Detroit. He would have to move right back to Hasetsu and ask Phichit to ship him his stuff. But how would he afford shipping? Or his ticket? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spiral of Yuuri’s thoughts tightened like a corkscrew spring condensed under pressure, and he sat there playing out his imaginary move back home when the door opened again. He didn’t look - he couldn’t look. Yuuri couldn’t look his fate in the eye just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The producer cleared her throat. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Nikiforov.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuuuuuuuuuuuck . Yuuri groaned, burying his face in his hands - a sound that started out very close to that expletive running through his brain on repeat, but ended as unintelligible noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even without looking, he knew that Viktor looked perfect as always, smiling that megawatt smile at the woman across the desk from him. “Of course, Andrea. I’m sorry I was late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peeking between his fingers, Yuuri watched as Viktor walked smoothly into the room and took the seat next to him. He forced himself to put his hands down and stop acting like a child, sitting as tall as he could and looking at the blotter on the producer - Andrea’s - desk. Whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to be avoided by not looking at it, and he was a master of hiding his panic from others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrea folded her hands on the desk. “Mr. Katsuki, Mr. Nikiforov, I’d like to discuss your futures on this show. You’ve both done well in competition, but oftentimes that isn’t enough to stand out from the crowd.” She paused to look at Yuuri. “I’ve already addressed this with Mr. Katsuki, asking that he… play up the natural competition that comes from having two athletes from the same field in the competition. However, it’s become clear that having everyone involved on the same page will be the most beneficial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We would encourage you two to continue acting similar to the incident today during the lunch break but more frequently. And especially during filming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had he not been doing a good enough job? It was clear from the first that they never expected Yuuri to beat Viktor, but now he wasn’t performing to the level they expected when it came to play acting at rivals? Clearly they had to pull in Viktor to make sure that it was believable so they could put on the show they wanted to. Why wasn’t he good enough? Why wasn’t it believable? Didn’t they know the disadvantage he was working at? He had adored Viktor for most of his life, and now he was expected to hate him publicly . What the hell . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Viktor said evenly, his voice sounding cool and distant. “And did you have any particular incidents in mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrea at least had the good grace to look chastened, just a little bit. “No, of course not. We want all of our competitors to act natural, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both dismissed after that. Yuuri and Viktor walked out of the offices in silence before they reached a break in the hallway and had to choose where they were going next. They stood in the middle of the space awkwardly, neither of them sure of where to look or what to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “So, this whole rivalry isn’t real, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri nodded. He couldn’t trust himself to speak with his heart feeling like it was in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That certainly explains it. After all, you skated my routine, and anyone who watches videos of your performances over the years can tell that you’re a fan. It wouldn’t make sense for you to suddenly start hating me like you did. Well, tried to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up, Yuuri let out a squeak of frustration. “Tried to? I was doing a pretty good job!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so,” Viktor said. Yuuri got the distinct impression that Viktor was trying not to laugh at him. “So now what, my little sopernik?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shrugged. He didn’t know what Viktor had called him, but it probably wasn’t good even though it sounded sweet. “Figure out how to give them a show? Because I really don’t want to go back to Detroit for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a few beats of silence while Viktor appeared to consider it. “Very well,” he said finally. We will need to plan what to do away from the cameras then. There’s a local ice rink that we can use, if you would like. I’ll send you the address.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked off with a wave while Yuuri processed what he said. When the words set in, he turned the direction that Viktor had walked off in. “Wait! Send me the address? You don’t even have my phone number!” Does he? He doesn’t. He can’t.</span>
</p>

<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t much to be done about the show that night. Viktor avoided looking at Yuuri, avoided answering questions about his program or much of anything, absentmindedly referring people instead to the video package. In turn, Yuuri looked at him coolly, with disinterest (Viktor, who was definitely avoiding Yuuri, definitely did not see this. Not at all). It was an awkward dance around each other all evening, talking to their respective groups of friends and competitors, congratulating everyone but each other. Now that Viktor was in on the “secret” he wasn’t sure how to act - at least before he could assume that Yuuri didn’t want to talk to him because of Sochi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had hurt deeply at first, and then dulled to an ache he couldn’t get rid of like he was recovering from a bad cold. It was uncomfortable, but at least it made sense. Viktor had made a fool of himself, falling all over a man he’d never had a single conversation with before. Over time it became manageable, especially once he was reminded to put on a happy face and be his usual self at the rink - funny, flighty, on top of the world. He had won gold not too long ago after all, and Yakov was only too happy to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to mope when that happened. Mila knew better than to ask him about the banquet and Yuri looked as though he would rather have bamboo shoots shoved under his nails before he brought it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With any luck - and Viktor was very lucky - he might get some answers this week, while having the added bonus of spending time with the man who had occupied his thoughts for the past few months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited until Thursday to make his plan known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between rehearsals with Peta (Super Bass, his all time favorite guilty pleasure song) and nights out with the dancers, Viktor did his best to make sure nothing could go wrong. He booked a nearby rink, he did extra stretches and workouts in his room, got a haircut, picked up a new mascara since he was almost out, and got a manicure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter if Yuuri wouldn’t get close enough to see some of these details. Well, that was a lie - Viktor wanted him close enough to see those details, but even if he didn’t get within five feet of Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor knew that these little things would at least boost his own confidence and put him more at ease. He was going to make this time count.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday morning, when by all rights Viktor should be in the hotel spa getting a glorious massage, he pulled his phone out to text Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Good morning Yuuri! Are you ready to put our dastardly plan into action?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>This is an automated message: Yuuri is not ready to interact with the world and needs coffee first. Please hold.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>How did you get your phone to send that? That’s amazing! Will you teach me?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>This is an automated message: Yuuri is not ready to interact with the world and needs coffee first. Please hold.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Oh I see, it happens every time I text you.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>This is an automated message: Yuuri is not ready to interact with the world and needs coffee first. Please hold.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The novelty of the message wore off after the first two of them, and Viktor pursed his lips. His knowledge of Yuuri outside of his skating was limited to Phichit Chulanont’s instagram account, and that made no indication of if Yuuri was a morning person or not. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Hey, sorry. That’s my message Do Not Disturb message. Phichit double texts a lot.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>That’s okay! What are you doing this afternoon?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>I don’t know, why don’t you tell me? </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>I MEAN. BECAUSE YOU PROBABLY HAVE A PLAN? Not like a crazy one, but you mentioned a plan earlier. </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Sorry.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Phichit isn’t the only double texter, I see. Triple texting… should I feel special?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>I plead the 5th. What’s the plan?</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>There’s a rink not far from the studio - meet me there at 7. I booked them for some after hours time. I plot better on the ice. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Me too. I mean think. I think better on the ice. </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Zamechatel'no! I’ll see you then. The password is knife shoes.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Knife shoes? </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>I couldn’t think of something that people wouldn’t tie to me, so I went on a random word generator. But that wasn’t complicated enough so I texted my rinkmate. You try coming up with super secret passwords on the spot. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yuuri?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yuuri are you there? Are you ignoring me?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>No, I’m just… Surprised. See you then.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was getting dark earlier in Los Angeles, and Viktor was waiting just inside the lobby for Yuuri, watching through the small window inset into the door. He could have very well just waited on the ice for Yuuri to show up, but there wasn’t any fun in that, was there? No, it was much more entertaining to stand here in the dark, stifling his giggles as he watched a silhouetted figure walk closer and closer until he could make out the Japanese man’s features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Yuuri came up the stairs, Viktor opened the door a fraction. “Password?” he stage-whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a mumble that Viktor couldn’t catch - either because it was so quiet that he missed it or it was in Japanese and he wouldn’t have understood it anyway. It was followed by a sigh and then, “...knife shoes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrenching the door open, Viktor grabbed the strap of Yuuri’s backpack and pulled him into the dim lobby. “Were you followed? Were you seen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, of course not,” Yuuri said with uncertainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor grinned. “Wonderful. Let’s get started.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was quiet as Viktor led him through the lobby and to the rink where they paused to put their skates on. Viktor immediately launched into wide circles around the ring, and he was followed by his quiet companion who went to the center of the rink to skate figures out of the way. Viktor itched to get closer to him but gave the other man his space, not wanting to spook him into running away, ending this rare opportunity that he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yuuri showed no signs of slowing down or stopping, Viktor stopped at the entrance to the rink and reached for his water bottle before leaning back against the boards, eyes following him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny for your thoughts?” he called out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That appeared to jolt Yuuri back to reality, and he skated over to the side and leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms. Viktor waited as patiently as he could, hoping for… something. He wasn’t sure what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you get my phone number?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what was bothering him? Viktor smiled, trying to tamper down the laugh that was bubbling up in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Yuuri,” he teased, “a magician never reveals their secrets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri, sadly, did not look happy or impressed with that answer. “Last time I checked you were a skater, not Houdini,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raising an eyebrow, Viktor reached over and pulled a coin from behind Yuuri’s ear - all while trying desperately not to focus on how soft the hair was there. “Well, it’s not a penny, but rubles still count right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you do that?” he asked, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you. Magicians, secrets… was I speaking Russian then? Or is my English really that bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri rolled his eyes and let out an ungainly snort. “Well, if skating doesn’t work out you could always try your hand as an amateur magician.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Viktor could do anything other than widen his eyes in surprise, Yuuri let out a noise that he was fairly sure Makkachin would have heard from his hotel room and skated away to the other side of the rink. He watched as the other man covered his face and took a few shaky breaths as he skated in circles, hands then moving up to tug at the roots of his hair. Viktor was confused - Yuuri hadn’t done or said anything wrong, so why did he look so upset? Leaning back to rest against the boards, he watched Yuuri intently. This wasn’t the same man from the banquet or from the skating video, or from the dance floor. Every single time he had the opportunity to observe Yuuri, he discovered just how much he didn’t really know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Viktor pushed off from the boards and crossed the ice, reaching for Yuuri and grasping his upper arm. The look in Yuuri’s eyes threw him - not quite fear, not quite sadness… stress? Anxiety? Whatever it was, Viktor didn’t want to see him upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know why I learned magic?” he asked abruptly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shook his head. “I didn’t even know that you know magic.” He sounded frustrated by that fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began skating backwards, facing Yuuri as they moved in slow circles. “When I started competing in the Junior division, I kept practicing even though Yakov told me that I needed to take breaks. Living with him and Lilia was nice, but quiet, and I wanted to be around the noise and the lights of the rink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day, I kept at my jumps longer than I should have and strained something in my leg. The doctor ordered me on bed rest for several days and I was furious. My grandparents had sent me a book on magic tricks earlier that year and it was the only book on my shelf that I hadn’t touched yet. I spent the next few days immersing myself in little magic tricks. I have always liked surprising people, and when I came back to the rink I was able to surprise Georgi and Anya. I tried pulling a quarter from behind Yakov’s ear and he yelled at me for wasting time and made me take extra lessons with Lilia as punishment.” Viktor shrugged as he turned, barely glancing over his shoulder to check that the ice was clear behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked… unsettled. That was the best word Viktor had for it in English, at least. As if something had upset his sense of the world. Viktor recognized the look - he often felt like that when faced with unusual revelations like the first time he had realized that he would have to retire one day. Or when he knew that he could see the choreography in his mind but it couldn’t translate to the ice (a rare occurrence for him). Something about his world had changed and he was trying to reorder things in light of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Yuuri looked up at him. “Oh my god, you’re a huge dork .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The accusation in his voice shook Viktor, who - for the first time since his growth spurt as a teenager - tripped over his own skates and landed ass first on the ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not,” he huffed, crossing his arms and looking up at Yuuri. “And besides, that’s rich coming from the man who has been photographed wearing Punk Hello Kitty before. You aren’t exactly an authority on what’s cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s a low blow, Nikiforov,” Yuuri laughed. It appeared that he had gotten over whatever was bothering him and looked relaxed for the first time since walking into the rink. He reached out a hand to Viktor, who contemplated pulling Yuuri down onto the ice with him for only a few moments before decided that pettiness - while an admirable goal occasionally - wasn’t worth this hard won peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, they skated toward the entrance and put on their skate guards before sitting on a nearby bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After several moments of looking at his skates consideringly, Yuuri asked, “So what are we going to do about this rivalry thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to be rivals, of course!” Viktor replied incredulously. “Our audience expects a good show, Yuuri - we owe them that. We are performers after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But you are asking about how to act, da? Ignoring each other or making snappy remarks are a good start, and you have already shown you are good at both.” Yuuri looked stricken, and opened his mouth to speak, but Viktor ignored that and kept talking. “Making vague Instagram posts or subtweeting -  you really should use your social media more, you know. Maybe a comment or two about the ‘competition’ in interviews?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri made a frustrated noise. “It’s all so… fake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was it Christophe liked to say? It was from that show he had watched that Viktor just didn’t have the time for… Oh sweet summer child. He had been on the receiving end of that comment when expressing something stupidly optimistic to his friend. And now here was Yuuri, uncomfortable with doing something because it wasn’t real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the price of fame,” he said quietly. “You cannot be yourself, or they will tear you to pieces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t seem right,” Yuuri insisted. “I don’t like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t either.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i refuse to accept the reality where tom bergeron and erin andrews aren't hosting this show. fight me. </p><p>if you want more dwts verse things, come shout at me on tumblr at akitoes! i have ideas for side stories, dances for the other competitors, current standings for dances, and more social media - all you have to do is ask!</p><p>comments/kudos/shares/etc are love!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yuuri + twitter = A Bad Time</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Katsuki Yuuri @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yoga-tta relax sometimes</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[image.png - Yuuri doing a handstand on a yoga mat]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 49   ⟳ 233    ♡ 701    ↑43</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Katsuki Yuuri @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pun brought to you by @phichit_chu</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 8   ⟳ 2    ♡ 624    ↑82</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hamster Lord @phichit_chu</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Replying to @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the buns brought to you by Katsuki Yuuri. You’re welcome world</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 583   ⟳ 1K    ♡ 3.2K    ↑904</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Katsuki Yuuri @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>0.o what did you just say</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 57   ⟳ 20    ♡ 963    ↑57</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hamster Lord @phichit_chu</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Replying to @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You heard me. #fiteme #notreallytho #thiccthighsmeansphichitdies</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 2K   ⟳ 3.4K    ♡ 10K    ↑579</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Katsuki Yuuri @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re not the one I want to fight. #butstill #sleepwithoneeyeopen #arethesehashtagsokay</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 57   ⟳ 20    ♡ 963    ↑57</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Step On Me Sarah Sanderson @alwaysspoopy</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So then who DO you wanna fight @yurion_ice?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 30   ⟳ 83    ♡ 898    ↑35</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sinnamon Roll Yuuri @figuregrapes</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really disappointed in our sweet boy @yurion_ice. Love when he uses twitter but was that just a subtweet? @phichit_chu i thought you taught him better</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 24   ⟳ 58    ♡ 68    ↑87</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>KY Fan Club @unofficialyurifc</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keep it civil fans! We all know that our favorite shy boy isn’t on social media a lot so don’t take his words out of context. He never speaks ill of his competition and that’s part of why we love him!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 98   ⟳ 76    ♡ 884    ↑4</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>slutty ice drama @christophegiacomeonme</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and i’m like damn, it’s 7 am...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 582   ⟳ 1K    ♡ 3.7K    ↑105</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>~nsfw~ viktor’s nipples tho @nikiforovsnipples</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I KNEW IT. I KNEEEWWWW IT. katsuki can’t beat viktor on the ice so he’s taking digs at him while theyre on a dance show #realclassy</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 89   ⟳ 83    ♡ 973    ↑9</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri Melts The Ice @katsudammmnnnnn</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between this and that article (abc.com/tiny/saHr7) it sure looks like katsuki is going after that mirrorball. Watch out viktor!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 39   ⟳ 201    ♡ 593    ↑5</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Katsuki Yuuri @yurion_ice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit here - yuuri freaked out and threw his phone. #triannualtweets #seeyouin4months</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🗨 633   ⟳ 482    ♡ 2K    ↑68</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That was… exhausting. Yuuri disliked using social media for a lot of reasons, but mostly because once something was posted, it would never go away. That was a lot of pressure for someone who spent so much time being careful about what they said (even with the occasional slip up) and making sure that they didn’t say or do something wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instagram was easier, since it was just pictures, and he could be the one taking the picture instead of being in it. Twitter was something else all together, and could only be persuaded to use it a few times a year by Phichit. Of course, Phichit also had access to all of his accounts and would post for him sometimes, but it was always easy for his followers to differentiate those tweets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In light of his conversation with Viktor, though, Yuuri knew he had to start using his accounts more frequently. He didn’t feel any better about that last vague tweet, and wished he hadn’t sent it, but between that and facing Andrea again and he would rather deal with the twitter mentions. At least he could turn those off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit looked at him like he wanted to say something about that last tweet, but must have decided it against it when he saw how dejected and tired Yuuri looked while staring at the ceiling from where he was laid out on the floor. If he laid there any longer Yuuri knew that Phichit would probably say something about their twitter exchange, so after a few minutes he picked himself up off the floor to shower before practice. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And 5, 6, 7- okay, wait. Let’s take a break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne sounded frustrated and Yuuri couldn’t blame her. They had been running the same five 8-counts of their </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzMFoM1Ecrw">
    <span>jazz routine </span>
  </a>
  <span>for the last hour and a half, and nothing felt right. Yuuri was going left when he should go right, he was off by half a count for the last half of it, and he couldn’t remember where to put his hands even though he had gotten it perfectly the day before. For someone who apparently was good at step sequences on the ice, Yuuri was failing at steps on the dance floor - he might have to ask Phichit to revise that statement about what he was good at and change to to “falling on his face constantly and eating his weight in Pocky and cheeseburgers”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought everything was ballroom,” he panted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His partner laughed from where she was leaning against the mirror - probably smudging it to death. “No, sorry. They’ll throw in things like disco and jazz once in a while. But hey, we’re lucky we pulled that. And during guilty pleasures week too. You’ve got the skills, you’re just thinking too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Story of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing about today was working, and it was killing Yuuri. His turns were off, his split slide wasn’t smooth (they wanted him to perform in sneakers - why not jazz shoes? Why?) and they wanted him to twerk of all things. Phichit was going to laugh himself to tears when he found out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was the matter of performing said twerking on the literal national stage where millions of people would be turning in. Yuuri was really starting to regret his song choice for this week, but they were too far gone now to do anything about it. His stubborn “stick it to the man” feeling towards the producers had driven him, and while he would have ended up with Taylor Swift anyway, this was his way of throwing everything back in their faces that all of this is your fault and you’re the ones that want me to act like this, so you’re going to catch attitude from me so just watch . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing a water bottle from the side table near the stereo, Julianne joined Yuuri near his bag in the corner and handed it to him. “Maybe we just need to take a break. Do something else, you know? We could put some music on and just relax. Goof around and all that. Just freestyle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good idea. Yuuri had been spending plenty of time watching dance videos on YouTube, and even practicing a few on his own while Phichit was out. He had the technical skills, he knew that and the judges knew that, but everyone involved also knew that he couldn’t just relax and have some fun. He spent hours learning what he wanted and not worrying about how it looked. He could do that with Julianne around too right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Alright, let’s try it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne grinned at him before pulling her phone out of her leggings pocket and thumbing through some music before plugging it in and pressing play. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmVLGLg-QBk">
    <span>song </span>
  </a>
  <span>started to play, he jumped and stood up quickly, very much not tripping on his own feet. “I know this!” he shouted over the music. “There’s a dance on YouTube for this and I learned it. Can we do that one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure?” she said, sounding more like a question than anything. “You lead and I’ll follow. Maybe show me and then we can do it together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to the middle of the room, he started marking the dance with small movements and nodded along to the beats as he did so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you re-start the music, please?” he asked. As Julianne did so, Yuuri added, “So… this isn’t my usual dance style. I was trying something that would help me appeal to the judges so… Be nice okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without any pressure of knowing that he had to perform this for the public, Yuuri was able to relax and find his center, working through the steps with precision and the right amount of attitude - the latter being the reason that he chose this song to learn anyway. It was sexier than anything he had done outside of pole dancing and had been uncomfortable at first, but without his glasses on the world was comfortably blurry and he was able to smooth away the sharp edges in his dancing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute and a half later, Julianne stopped the music and started giggling. “That. Was. AMAZING. Literally the best thing I’ve seen this week, and I watched Mark choreograph for the group dance. Yuuri, what the hell was that? Where have you been hiding those skills?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pole dancing studio back in Detroit , he thought with a grimace. “Was it really okay? I wasn’t like… really awkward or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne shook her head emphatically. “I want to see that again. This is amazing. What’s that Lady Gaga gif? Amazing, beautiful, showstopping, all of that. Show me that again. From the top.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easier this time, knowing that Julianne liked what he had been doing, but he was worried for the day that they decided to use that on stage - in the privacy of his hotel room was one thing. Doing this here with Julianne was just outside of his comfort zone that he could run back to his mental blanket fort of safety if he needed to. The show was something else entirely. Thank god there were no cameras today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, his luck only held out for about forty two seconds before the world decided that no, Yuuri wasn’t allowed to have a good day without something embarrassing happening. Through the loud base of the music, he didn’t hear the door open, and was so focused on watching his spot in the mirror for turning and making sure he wasn’t lost that he didn’t see three very curious - and one of them also very shocked - faces peek in the door to watch. And when the music cut off this time, there were multiple sets of hands clapping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri scrambled for the long-sleeve that he had been wearing and pulled it on over his t-shirt before looking around for his glasses. When he found them ( no no nonononono) Peta, Viktor, and Kristi were standing in the doorway, clearly having seen Yuuri in what was likely the most embarrassing moment of the last eight weeks of his life. Kristi, at least, looked surprised but not completely shocked - she knew most of his dancing history, and one only had to follow Phichit to see the silly dances he posted online. All it took was one leap of logic to assume that Yuuri could goof around too, even if people didn’t know it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor though… Viktor was staring. His blue eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly open, as if he was looking at an alien with two heads and four arms instead of just Yuuri. Had he really been that bad? It must have been awful for Viktor to be staring at him like that, and Yuuri ducked his head, wondering if he could just pull his shirt up to cover his face and stay like that the rest of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Julianne had her social skills, which saved Yuuri from actually talking. While he was busy looking at Viktor looking at him, she and Peta were talking - apparently they’d run over their practice time and into lunch, and when she, Viktor, and Kristi were walking by they heard the music and decided to see what was going on before dragging them to the break area, rehearsal or no rehearsal. When Julianne agreed and said they would join, Yuuri didn’t have an out and reluctantly grabbed his bag and water bottle before following them down the hallway, determined to stay at the end of the line and avoid anyone’s attention for the rest of eternity, or at least the rest of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: i’m almost afraid to ask</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: but make me understand</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: it was like i could SEE the thigh high boots and crop top chris. he was dancing to pussycat dolls. I AM TOO GAY FOR THIS</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc; actually it sounds like you’re the right amount of gay for this</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: it’s complicated though. not sure i can tell you why but it doesn’t matter. plus i don’t think he remembers the banquet</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: with that amount of champagne i’m sure i wouldn’t have either</span>
</p><p>
  <span>v-nikiforov: i wish i had gotten video. but all i got was drool on my shirt and peta laughing at me</span>
</p><p>
  <span>christophe-gc: oh it must be so hard to be you</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> KILL ME NOW KILL ME NOW RED ALERT:katsukiyuuri</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RED ALERT? Wait, you mean there’s a llama in your tub? :phichit+chu</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No that’s a teal alert. No, this is I EMBARRASSED MYSELF IN FRONT OF VIKTOR NIKIFOROV WHICH SEEMS TO BE MY LIFE ALL THE TIME NOW:katsukiyuuri</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You know that would probably stop happening if you just TALKED to him like a normal human being right:phichit+chu</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Stop being logical i can’t talk to him. He’s a skating GOD and i am just me :katsukiyuuri</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah just you who is one of the top six skaters in the world and can pole dance like nobody’s business and is competing ON A HIGHLY TELEVISED SHOW :phichit+chu</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will you stop telling lies and help me:katsukiyuuri</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What do you want me to do, invent time travel? Why not just OWN UP TO IT and act like the badass you really are?:phichit+chu</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri K.: stop looking at me</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: i’m not looking at you</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri K.: you just did</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: you just text me!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri K.: you’re supposed to be ignoring me. We are rivals, remember? If you look you have to glare</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: i can’t do that but i can squint. It’ll look like glaring but i’m really squinting while facing the stupidly bright shininess of your talent</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri K.: that doesn’t even make sense. Stop looking at me! And smiling at your phone!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: i’m looking at pictures of makkachin, of course i’m smiling. Do you want to see?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri K.: …...yes</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: image.png</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: image2.png</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov: image3.png</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor, somehow, made it through the rest of the week - mostly powered by Redbull and fevered YouTube searches until he found the video that Yuuri had been copying when he danced. It was a dangerous distraction that he couldn’t really afford, but he also couldn’t afford to not think about yuuri in some of those incredibly… warm room friendly outfits. His Yuuri, the one from the banquet who danced and flirted and smiled, had returned for a brief moment and he couldn’t get him out of his head. Even if he hadn’t looked at Viktor, or smiled at him, or even known he was there, it made Viktor ridiculously, insanely, stupidly happy to see the object of his affections let loose and have fun like that. Of course, said object of affections wouldn’t look at him for days afterwards, and still couldn’t come near him, but that played into this rivalry they were supposed to be engaged in so Viktor decided not to push the issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The show on Monday was easily one of Viktor’s favorites so far. It was full of campy nonsense and ridiculous music, and it seemed less competitive amongst the athletes and more like showing off what would probably happen if they were all drunk at a party but could still dance really well. And although he may have wanted to argue with James that “Don’t Stop Believin’” and Simone that “A Thousand Miles” weren’t songs to feel guilty about loving, Viktor generally just kept his mouth shut (a first, really) and enjoyed the show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it was his turn to dance, he watched his video package from the week that showed him explaining why he had chosen the song that he did, as well as him and Peta working out the start of the dance and practicing a tricky section in the middle. Since it was all about things that you loved no matter how corny or trashy they were, he had picked Super Bass because it was his favorite song to dance to on </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0NATeCBtVg">
    <span>Just Dance </span>
  </a>
  <span>. The camera followed him and Peta as they went from watching videos, to dancing, to then finding an Wii and actually playing so they could mess around and have fun for the cameras. As the video came to a close, Viktor rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, ready for the lights to come back on and for the music to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he got instead was surprising, to say the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been facing the video screen when it started, so to hear Yuri Plisetsky come out of nowhere made him look around in confusion. Had Yuri ditched practice and Yakov to come to the States alone? He was going to have to drag that boy back to St. Petersburg by his ear…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no, it was just a video. A grainy skype call played that showed Yuri, Georgi, Mila, Natalia, and Nick - the group of regulars who liked to play Just Dance in Mila’s room on the weekends or on nights they couldn’t sleep after coming home from competitions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Viktor thinks that he is better than everyone,” Yuri griped on screen. “Who wants to be better at a stupid dance game?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mila giggled. “You’re just upset that he keeps beating you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ <em>Shut up, hag,</em> ” Yuri hissed. “Viktor thinks that pink is the best color on the planet and when he found out that the rapper had pink hair, he decided to learn all of her music. Can you imagine Viktor rapping? I don’t have to - I have heard it. It belongs in the depths of hell with most of the costumes he has chosen and his pink car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the distance, Yakov was yelling about getting back to practice and not wasting daylight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you come back to Russia,” Yuri said, “I will beat you at Just Dance! Ty mozhesh' byt' legendoy figurnogo kataniya, no ty nikto v videoigrakh! ya budu vladet' toboy, starik!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde stomped off and Mila watched him go fondly while Georgi rolled his eyes. Viktor was pretty sure he mumbled something about Yuri being a drama queen, and made a mental note to text Georgi later asking if he had ever heard about the pot calling the kettle black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“удачи, Виктор! Сделай так, чтобы мать Россия гордилась и скоро вернись домой. без тебя скучно.” Mila waved before turning the camera off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor was touched. He knew that he could consider himself friends with his rinkmates, and that they might think the same, but really they were more like family to him even if they didn’t know or didn’t want to be a part of it. To hear a message from home, to hear familiar voices speaking Russian, was almost more than he could bear for the moment, and the production crew gave him a few seconds to recover while Tom and Erin made some commentary before they started dancing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one will take my Just Dance title, he thought resolutely. As the lights bounced off of his pink (of course) shirt, he got ready to dance and hoped that Yuri would see and scream himself hoarse over it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oh my god latin week is going to kill me</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>From: ABC Studios</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>To: Dancing With The Stars Cast Group<br/></span>
  <span>Re: Production Delay<br/></span>
  <span>Sent: Wed. 11:04 PM</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To Our Dancers and Athletes:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the regular studio space will not be available for practice today, Thursday, or tomorrow. It appears that there is extensive damage to several studio rooms due to a pipe bursting sometime this evening. Practices that were scheduled for today have been cancelled, and it is likely that it will not be available tomorrow in order to give cleaning and repair crews a suitable amount of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We encourage you to take the day for yourselves today, and if you are unable to practice tomorrow to please find an alternative way of working on your dances or fitness routines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Please see the press release attached to this email - it will be distributed to media outlets and on social media shortly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[ waterdamagepress.docx]</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When in Los Angeles and not working, Phichit decided, visit Disneyland. He had argued that it wasn’t even a trip to LA without a visit to the Magic Kingdom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With hardly a day off before this, Phichit had insisted that they take advantage of the break in rehearsals, and Yuuri folded like wet paper before his puppy dog eyes and promises of cute Mickey Mouse ears. And so, they packed their backpacks with what they would need, grabbed facemasks and baseball caps, and - through a combination of bus and taxi - found their way to the Magic Kingdom early on Thursday morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was thankful for the break. They were supposed to be practicing for Latin Week, and it wasn’t going well at all. He had been assigned an Argentine tango, and Julianne had picked a song called “</span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVNGvsdtYI4">
    <span>On Love: Eros</span>
  </a>
  <span>”, which felt about nine different kinds of wrong, weird, and awkward, no matter how much Yuuri had been progressing so far on the show. He had expressed as much to Phichit last night, finally breaking down into babbling phrases and disjointed thoughts about how he was about as sexy as a potato and there was no way that he would survive this week. When Phichit pointed out that plenty of people </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>potatoes, and made some very interesting noises when eating them sometimes, Yuuri threw a pillow at him and asked the universe - out loud - what he had done to deserve such a ridiculous best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you saying about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous best friend?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Phichit crowed as they hurried through Disneyland (more than one guard had shouted at people to stop running, and Yuuri was pretty sure Phichit would have bolted if not for him) to get to Pirates of the Caribbean first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri laughed - a big, real, honest laugh that he hadn’t been able to bring to the surface in a long time. “That he’s the best person on the face of the planet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good enough to post however many pictures I want today?” The gleam in Phichit’s eye should have worried Yuuri, but he was too happy to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he conceded. “As long as they don’t violate community standards or anything like common decency, go right ahead. I don’t want to go to Disney jail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Today’s going to be awesome! We’ll take pictures and eat chocolate covered bananas and avoid Disney jail!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t avoiding Disney jail be the first thing on the list?” Yuuri asked wryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a point though, and Yuuri realized that for today - just for today - he could break his diet plan and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Sure, he would try to eat healthy, but there was no way he would miss out on a churro, or a chocolate covered banana, or a Mickey pretzel or… There were just too many snack possibilities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After riding Pirates of the Caribbean three times, taking a picture with Jack Sparrow out in front of the water, and laughing at all of the ridiculous jokes the tour guides told on the Jungle Cruise, Yuuri and Phichit wound through the maze that made up the line for the Haunted Mansion, where even Yuuri snapped some pictures of the ghostly sights and eerily empty spaces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard that they can never turn this ride off, so it’s making all those noises all night long,” Phichit leaned over and whispered as they entered the foyer where they would be let into the ride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri frowned. “But wouldn’t that waste a lot of energy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something about it being so old that if they turn it off it’ll never turn back on again,” Phichit shrugged. “Imagine if they did and then it just came on by itself again. Then we would know this is really a haunted Haunted Mansion!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Yuuri was a complete baby who jumped at everything, but as they went through the ride he tried to imagine being an employee and walking through the empty Haunted Mansion in the middle of the night. It wasn’t a comforting thought in the least. That unsettling thought, accompanied by Phichit’s running commentary of where people liked to dump their family member’s ashes in the ride made his insides go </span>
  <em>
    <span>squick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and as soon as he could he made the executive decision that they were going to ride It’s A Small World and then all of the classic movie-based rides (but not the tea cups) next, and then tackle Tomorrowland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every so often, Phichit would stop him for selfies or “glamour shots” in famous locations, like in front of the castle where they got a selfie, the wishing well where Yuuri leaned over to say his wish while maintaining an arabesque as high as he could, a picture of Phichit sharing Ariel’s shell and both of them mimicking swimming, and multiple shots in Tomorrowland of them taking turns sneaking up behind Darth Vader or Kylo Ren, and marching in step with the Stormtroopers. Eventually, they made it back to Main Street U.S.A. where they took pictures in front of the Casting Office door, before getting snacks - ice cream for Phichit (peanut butter and chocolate) and a chocolate covered banana for Yuuri - and settling into their seats on a bench near the roundabout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Yuuri said between bites, “If Celestino sees these he’ll make us run laps till we puke when we get back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit raised an eyebrow at him - something Yuuri had said caught his attention, but Yuuri wasn’t sure what it could be. “I dunno, we could always bring him back some ridiculous stuffed animal to make up for it. Or promise to swim laps here. Better decide quick though, because I’m posting a picture of you with that banana right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a lot of effort not to choke on the banana that was currently in his mouth when Yuuri heard the shutter click, and he scrambled to take a bite that wouldn’t kill him before he tried to reach for the phone. “No yooh camt! Gimme tha Phic!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elegant on the ice he may be, but Yuuri was not a pretty eater most of the time - that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>something he wanted memorialized on the internet more than it already had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fighting Phichit for a phone - or camera, or video device, or anything that captured images in any quality - was a losing battle, and one that was over quickly. With a sigh and a baleful look at his best friend, Yuuri went back to eating his frozen banana and started to scroll through the app he had downloaded that morning that would tell him what rides had the shortest lines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could go on the Riverboat next,” he mused. “Or the storybook boat ride. We haven’t been on the train yet either, and the line for Peter Pan is still 45 minutes! There’s some rides that we might have to choose between those and firewo-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuuri,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Phichit interrupted. “Yuuri, do you want to tell me why </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Viktor Nikiforov is liking every single picture I’ve posted today that has you in it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh no. No, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yuuri was not letting Viktor - skating god and personal idol aside - ruin his day with Phichit. All he wanted to do was get away from everything! Why did real life have to intrude on the Happiest Place on Earth? Couldn’t he just have one day of peace? Leaning back and sliding down on the bench, Yuuri groaned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit made a sound that was between a choke and a laugh, and Yuuri looked up from his slumped position, concerned. “Do you want to tell me why he slid into my DMs to ask if you were having fun? </span>
  <em>
    <span>And why you were ignoring his text messages?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no escaping it now. “I may have… silenced his text notifications for today. I just wanted to hang out with you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, Phichit wasn’t phased by any of what Yuuri had just said, and only looked at him with eyes that seemed to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lucy… you have some ‘splainin’ to dooo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Alright, so first - why does he have your number? Second - </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>does he have your number? Third - how have you not died from the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor Freaking Nikiforov</span>
  </em>
  <span> has been texting you? Fourth - why is he liking all the pictures I post of you today? And most importantly - are you two secretly banging and how could you deceive your best friend like this?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not here,” Yuuri hissed, looking around at the crowded sidewalks and groups of people rushing by. “Let’s take the train or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t often that Yuuri stunned Phichit into silence. Actually, it wasn’t often that Yuuri stunned Phichit into silence with something other than his skating or his obsession over Viktor. This, he supposed, was actually related to the second thing, but not really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So let me get this straight,” Phichit said slowly. “You don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>he has your number, but you two are texting on the DL because the show has set you up as rivals and expect you to lose, and Viktor thinks that you two should be friends because he and Chris are friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri nodded his head. “That’s about right. I don’t know why he’s liking those pictures though, and for the last time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we are not sleeping together.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it. In his more sleep deprived moments, Yuuri wandered into dangerously delusional territory where he figured that if the rumors about Viktor and Chris were true, and they were really </span>
  <em>
    <span>that close</span>
  </em>
  <span> then maybe that was what Viktor was expecting from Yuuri - even though that didn’t make sense because Chris was sex on legs and Yuuri was more like ‘takoyaki skewer that had been dropped and squished a little bit’ on legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh if you think I’m not helping with this, you are so wrong,” Phichit grinned. “You such at social media, Yuuri - I love you but it’s true. Consider all the subtweeting and instagram posts handled. But first, you have to text him back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Yuuri pulled out his phone and opened his text conversations. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Yuuuuuuuuri!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yuuuuri we should hang out today!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Do you want to go skating with me? We should plan some more. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yuuri i’m not getting those automated messages so you’re awake, aren’t you?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Are you ignoring me?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>You’re such a heartbreaker, Yuuri Katsuki. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>YOU’RE AT DISNEYLAND</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>WITHOUT ME</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>What did you wish for??????</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>What’s your favorite ride?</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were at least ten more messages that consisted of mostly emojis and one photo of a very sad-looking Makkachin, which made Yuuri feel guilty even though he knew he had no reason to - dogs just did that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Hey, Viktor. Yes, I’m at Disneyland with Phichit. Needed a day off from practice. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>YUURI MY YUURI YOU REPLIED TO ME</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Can I come hang out with you and Phichit? We can go on rides!</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Viktor, we’re rivals. Pretty sure we shouldn’t be hanging out. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>But Yuuuuuuri. :(((((((((</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>No.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>:((((((((((</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Did you need something?</span>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
    <b>Yes! We should hang out and plan more things for the TV show!</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Phichit already said he was going to take over my Instagram and Twitter for me, so he has that covered. Shouldn’t we just keep ignoring each other like we were?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>That’s not enough! It needs to be dramatic! This is television, Yuuri</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Fine, but I just can’t today, alright?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Why not?</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>I have to practice once the studio is open. I need to work on this week’s dance a lot.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>But you move so well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. </b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Yeah, sure.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Really!</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Hmm.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>If you’re that worried, email me a video of you practicing and I can help. OOOH we should set up email accounts for this. Mine gets hacked sometimes, and we don’t want anyone to know. I’ll send you your email account information later! Bye!</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as quickly as the text messages came, they were gone, and Yuuri was left staring at his now silent device. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was… weird,” he said to Phichit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I guess when you’re a skating genius you’re allowed to be weird. Now c’mon, we have selfies to take and subtweets to tweet!”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>[video.mov - a compilation of clips that show Yuuri waltzing with various Disney Princesses, making silly faces at Phichit while in line for It’s a Small World, waving at people in the parade, trying on mouse ears, and looking at a display of candy like, well, a kid in a candy store]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>phichit+chu sometimes you just need a day at disneyland. all work and no play makes yuuri a dull boy, so we’re fixing that! #hardworker #werkwerkwerkwerk #bopbopbopboptothetop #earnednotgiven </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>similarthrifty</b>
  <span> the master of instagram has given us yuuri content! #blessed #thathashtagtho</span>
</p><p>
  <b>nerdstrad</b>
  <span> low blow, phichit - but who is he talking about???</span>
</p><p>
  <b>ultimateviktor</b>
  <span> oh god don’t tell me actual skaters have sunk to that tabloid shit level - IF THERE WAS A RIVALRY VIKTOR WOULD SAY IT OKAY HE HAS NEVER BEEN DISMISSIVE OF HIS RIVALRY WITH CHRIS HE WOULD BE STRAIGHT UP ABOUT THIS TOO STOP DEFAMING MY BOY</span>
</p><p>
  <b>samoanhamster</b>
  <span> I WAS JUST AT DISNEY YESTERDAY I MISSED THEM DAMNIT</span>
</p><p>
  <b>vainunicorn </b>
  <span>&lt;3333333333333</span>
</p><p>
  <b>hateeyeglasses</b>
  <span> omg the high school musical reference tho. Who’s sharpay and who’s gabrielle i wonder</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>katsukifc </b>
  <span>LOOK AT OUR BOY HAVING A GOOD TIME </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Skatingvulcan </b>
  <span>@hateeyeglasses you’re reading into this too much. Chill tf out</span>
</p><p>
  <b>floppyvityahair</b>
  <span> so katsuki is too good to hang out with his competitors go figure </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>All done! Your email is </b>
    <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
      <b>aceofhearts@mail.com</b>
    </a>
    <b> and password is 1234. You’ll need to reset it. I’m </b>
    <a href="mailto:kingofclubs@mail.com">
      <b>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</b>
    </a>
    <b>!</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Really? Playing cards?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Yes!</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Viktor walked into the practice room on Friday afternoon, Peta was already there with two other dancers, directing them through the steps while she watched critically. Every few moments she would pause them, circling around check arm placements or see the same sequence of movements from a different angle. She was very detail-oriented, which Viktor appreciated and disliked simultaneously - there were times where he just wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>dance</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to create or feel, and not calculate every step or expression. He hadn’t been able to do that in a long time in his skating either and after five weeks of dancing, the novelty of it had worn off and he was looking for something new. Without that he felt stagnant, and it was uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, the thrill of spending a long period of time away from Russia - with Makkachin of course - was enough to keep him on his toes. And then there was the dancing, which he hadn’t focused on as heavily over the last few years. Meeting Peta, the thrill of seeing Yuuri all the time after months of silence following Sochi - it was all wonderful, but it was wearing off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like skating, all the novelty was gone and he was left with a competition that he seemed sure to win. The producers clearly thought so, and even if he suspected that the judging might be rigged (as if anyone could buy Len Goodman’s vote) the competition was still thin on the ground. Yuuri was good, of course, but he was inconsistent. The gymnasts showed skill, as well as Kristi, but who else could be relied upon to well? And was that good enough? Viktor hadn’t chosen this show for an easy win and easy publicity, he had done it because he wanted to know that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>lose and still come out on top because he deserved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter what he did, the surprises wore off. It was disheartening to say the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning against the doorframe, Viktor watched as Peta studied their dance as a teacher rather than a participator and tried to see what she could. Other than ballet and the required ballroom classes he didn’t really spend a lot of time on dance - Yuri did (reluctantly) and so did Mila, but after a point Viktor preferred the ice to the mirrors and pale wood of the studio, and so he found that he was struggling to keep up with whatever his teacher was attempting to create. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peta directed the pair to start again, and started the music before joining Viktor. “What do you see when they </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0aUZzaIKAQ">
    <span>dance</span>
  </a>
  <span>?” she asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The story, while easy to find, was difficult for Viktor to voice. A couple, in love and happy in their domestic bubble until it had burst - maybe a night out partying with too much alcohol, or words that were said in anger and going to sleep while both of them refused to apologize. Sunday mornings that were usually spent in bed were spent in a silent tug-of-war, each side taking and pulling without giving anything back until one of them finally falls on his knees to beg forgiveness except it’s too late…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pain,” he said finally. “And love, and loss. Vulnerability.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, pleased, while Viktor looked on in resignation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t like it?” Peta’s voice had an edge, like she dared him to challenge her creativity - they never seriously butted heads, although Viktor did have some opinions on the presentation now and again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful,” he said carefully, after a thoughtful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor cleared his throat, ready to clarify the statement. “It’s not that I don’t like it - it’s beautiful, technical, compelling. It’s also very unfamiliar. I don’t think I can do it justice.” That was his diplomatic way of begging her not to make him dance this, but he knew it was pointless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep presenting the same thing over and over again,” Peta said with a sigh. “The judges loved your performance for the most memorable year - it was vulnerable and sweet and heartbreaking. But the rest of the time you’re this shiny, composed, flirty playboy, and it’s getting old. You have to show them something different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right, and he knew it. “Yes, but why </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not for me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought sullenly. And maybe that was the issue. Viktor had never had something like this dance - something serious enough where you walked on eggshells around them after a fight, wanting to be close but not wanting to crowd them, trying to find a way to balance anger and sadness and love all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a life he couldn’t have - not now. Not while he was skating. It was a life that he had never seriously considered, and when faced with it - even when faced with its ugliness and pain - he found he wanted it. Viktor didn’t like that feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best, you know that, but I don’t know that I can connect with this.” At the look on Peta’s face, he added, “I’ll try, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, now lets get out there and start practicing. I don’t want to waste any more time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Are you going to send me a video?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phichit had to film it - be nicer than he did when he saw it, okay? I’ve had enough embarrassment for one day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[attachment: eros.mov]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>WHAT HOW THIS IS AMAZING.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You don’t have to lie to me about it. Just tell me what I’m doing wrong. It’s all still… off. I’d rather worry about this than costumes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alright, well, technically speaking I think you’re more of an expert on steps than I am, but your presentation is horrible. Why is that? What is the song called?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fine, you tell me how to fix this and I can owe you one to help with your choreography. Just please fix it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the producers set this up so I could be sent home this week. It’s called Eros.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Do you want to be sent home?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And okay! Sexual love. You can work with that, surely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just answer the question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fine, but don’t think I won’t forget you ignoring mine. You need a character to play, an act to put on to create a performance. If it’s called Eros, and you’re dancing a duet with the lovely Julianne, why not a playboy who comes to town, chasing after the beautiful woman that he wants?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Isn’t that… a little creepy? Chasing after her? Doesn’t that imply that she said no? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: Video Update?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, you asked and there’s my answer. Be the playboy. It’s easy. It's right there.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <span>Easy, my ass</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Yuuri thought. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>LATIN WEEK HAS KILLED ME. I AM DEAD. I HAVE DIED. to my eternal shame, it has been many many days since this has been updated and i'm so sorry for leaving you hanging like that. i love you. please forgive me. please forgive these idiots for the choices they are about to make.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Easy, my ass, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, it was easy for international playboy Viktor Nikiforov to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey, here you go, be a playboy and break hearts left and right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was probably because he had experience, Yuuri gripped. Although.. That wasn’t fair. There was never anything “official” put out about Viktor’s relationships, so either he really was in a relationship with Chris this whole time like the message boards speculated, or maybe he had a long term partner who hated the spotlight, or even a string of broken hearts scattered across Russia left in his wake. Or maybe he was actually full of it and totally forever-alone single and just one hell of an actor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, right. That was just wishful thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he had no idea if any of that was true, what Yuuri did know for certain was that he needed help. He hated being underestimated when he knew that he could do perfectly well, and he wanted to pass this week with flying colors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also knew what he had to do to win. With a groan, and a hastily calculated time zone difference, Yuuri picked up the phone and called Minako. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, no no no. Yuuri, get your head out of your head and focus!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Minako’s voice sounded tinny from the small computer speakers, but that didn’t stop her from sounding intimidating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne shot him a look, and Yuuri shook his head slightly. No, Minako meant exactly what she said. Her English was excellent, even if it was 8 in the morning and she was nursing a coffee cup like it was a lifeline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his shoulders, Yuuri sat down in front of the laptop. “Yes, Minako-sensei,” he sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- Someone told me to tell a story with this. To be a playboy who comes to town and steals the pretty girl. But that’s not me. How am I supposed to do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri, sweetie, I love you but you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a playboy. You’re more like the girl who seduces the playboy but doesn’t even realize it.” She shot him a look that dared him to argue with her, which not even Yuuri was stupid enough to do (usually). “I think in this case, you have to be the boy who comes in and swoops the lovely girl out of the playboy’s clutches. Show her what real love and tenderness are, you know? Show her that she wants you and not him. Be sweet.” With that, she shooed him back to Julianne to try the dance again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they danced, Yuuri tried to imagine someone - anyone - who could be the focus of his routine. The man who he could say </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t love the way I can. What you think is love is shallow and weak, and I’m the only one who can prove what love is</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. When he was younger, he might have imagined Takashi and sweeping Yuuko away from him, but as he grew older he realized they were good for each other and his childish crush was just his jealousy that his closest friend would be taken away from him. There were so few strings of dates - he could hardly call them relationships - in college that there was no one he could really imagine as the focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he found it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t one person he needed, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>two. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yes, he was dancing with Julianne, but maybe he wasn’t showing off for her. Maybe he was showing off for… someone, someone who he couldn’t even name to himself, standing in the shadows of the doorway, light barely catching the gleam of his hair. Yes, he had still stolen her away from the playboy, but he wasn’t just showing him that he was better, he was proving it to his shadowy onlooker. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I might be dancing with her, but this could be you. I stole her away so easily, to show her what real love and passion can be like - how she ought to be treated, ought to be loved. But she’s not the only one I’m trying to tell. Can’t you see? I could steal you away too, if I wanted. I could make you happy. I could make either of you happy, if you’ll just reach out and take a risk-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Squeals from the computer broke through his concentration, and Yuuri realized that his heart was pounding in his ears and his chest was heaving long before he realized the music had stopped. Judging from the excited babble of Japanese and English his ears were being assaulted by, Yuuri had found his story. He only wished that Minako could approve a little more quietly…</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looks like i got the dance worked out just fine. How’s yours coming along?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Do i get to see a video??? Mine is… fine. My partner is certainly pushing me this week. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nope, no video. You can just watch on Monday like everyone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m offended you think I’m like everyone else</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re putting words in my mouth. So what’s up with your dance?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I never understood that saying. It makes me think of actually putting words in someone’s mouth, which is impossible. Well… might be impossible. The steps are fine, just more complicated. I guess that’s what happens at this point, yes? They have to keep things exciting somehow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:kingofdiamonds@mail.com">
    <span>kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Speaking of exciting, should I be planning to see anything I’m going to be “offended” by online soon?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: kingofdiamonds@mail.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:aceofhearts@mail.com">
    <span>aceofhearts@mail.com</span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span>Re: thanks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re not the only one who is keeping things close to their chest, you know. Just wait and see.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait and see</span>
  </em>
  <span> was not Yuuri’s style. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait and panic and forget how to breathe and obsess over every detail</span>
  </em>
  <span> was more like it, but he found that he wasn’t all that worried about any impending posts on Viktor’s social media pages. Phichit had all of his accounts and would know when something was posted, and he made more posts than Yuuri did even when there wasn’t something like this going on, so he tried to focus on the dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he found his story, it was easier to lose himself in the music. Knowing that he didn’t have to be a playboy, to swoop in and steal the hearts of everyone in the audience, was a blessing - that wasn’t him, after all. He could just come in and show them what steady love, dedication, and determination was in the face of such blinding passion. The flames of that ‘love’ couldn’t hold out against the coldness of the world, but the steady and protected little candle that he imagined his love was, could. It wasn’t as though it wasn’t realistic - he had held on to what he thought were romantic feelings for Yuuko for years before he realized that was just friendship and an unwillingness to see the truth of his heart and soul. And then he held on to - still holds on to, if he’s being honest - his adoration of Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor, who was very much </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>like the icy, lofty figure in his posters, videos, and interviews. Viktor, who was goofy and childish and energetic and evasive and maddening and a hundred things all at once, and Yuuri had barely talked to him. Viktor who loved and missed his parents but buried it in the face of fame, who had spent so long at the top of the world that Yuuri wondered if he remembered what it was like to be anywhere other than there. Viktor who-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor who needed to get out of Yuuri’s head, he thought grumpily, as if it was Viktor who was putting those thoughts there and not Yuuri who was indulging in them. (And Viktor, who he pictured standing in the shadows while he danced, watching him out of the corner of his eye, begging him to realize that it would be so easy for him to step in and lead Yuuri in a dance instead of Yuuri leading Julianne.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, though, there was no post. No video. No tweet. Nothing other than a picture of maroon fabric and a set of silver cufflinks poking out of the sleeve on a Monday morning - Viktor’s costume, he assumed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri had completed his costume fitting not long after, but didn’t take any pictures. He wasn’t ashamed of it, only felt that there wasn’t much to be shared. Latin Week usually resulted in muted colors and simpler costumes for the men, and almost always the same style - suits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seamstress had joined Julianne in her pleas for Yuuri to go with something a little more “relaxed” - their word for an unbuttoned shirt. He had stubbornly refused, saying that it wasn’t him, it wasn’t what he wanted to do, and he would safety pin the shirt together if they even tried. Instead, they had settled on slim black pants, a white shirt barely open over a white t-shirt, suspenders, and his sleeves rolled up. It wouldn’t be as formal, as eye catching as the man who Julianne would start dancing with before Yuuri made his appearance, and he thought it felt right. It felt like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That thought was the only thing keeping his nerves together as the show started that night. The lights seemed brighter, the music louder, the crowd even more energetic and it was enough to drive Yuuri to distraction. He couldn’t even sit with Julianne until their dance was called because she was dancing in the opening number - all of the professional dancers were, in order to show what Latin styles really looked like - and then she was doing some backstage interviews with other dancers. That was how Yuuri found himself leaning against the ledge of the competitor’s box, watching but not seeing every dance before him play out on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to kick himself for the way his stomach dropped and his ears perked up when Viktor’s voice started playing on the video package. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he noticed was that Viktor looked tired. His eyes looked a little blank, and Yuuri almost hated himself for noticing this. Of course he had spent years and years watching and reading anything he could so it was easy for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to spot as a fan, but he knew he couldn’t be seen as being so affected by this, especially when there were cameras around. He had a job to do, and that job included ignoring the hurt of someone who he had looked up to for most of his life, which made him upset but he didn’t know who to direct it at. Yuuri then progressed from wanting to kick himself to wanting to throw himself into the nearest dark room and curse and kick other things when the interviewer asked him about his dance and Viktor </span>
  <em>
    <span>hesitated</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He never hesitated. He was calm, collected, always seemed to have it together whether he was playing at being a secret agent with a door password or talking about ways to show a rivalry that Yuuri’s heart wasn’t in, and then to throwing himself in a volcano when he realized that there was probably a good reason he was standing here panicking over Viktor Nikiforov, and that it didn’t have anything to do with wanting to be able to skate on the same ice as him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had everything to do with how Yuuri had been imagining him in the room while he danced, even if he refused to actively think the specific words about it though. And it also had everything to do with the realization that Yuuri was completely emotionally fucked up over Viktor Nikiforov, and that if he ever told Phichit any of this he would be hearing “I told you so”s until his dying day.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When had this turned from remote idolization to actually liking him? Was that what was happening? When had that happened? Yuuri couldn’t pin it down, but now was not the time to think about it. He had an act to put on. A dance to watch. Composure to maintain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peta was sitting at a vanity table, a lit mirror frame illuminating her face and the sheen of the satiny black dress that she wore. It looked like a nightgown, and Yuuri was intrigued - why the contrast between that and the suit that Viktor had been wearing when the show started? It was his costume, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer was provided shortly - the suit was his costume, and as the story unfolded Yuuri understood their costume choices a little better. Peta’s dress almost resembled a nightgown, as if she had come home and started getting ready for bed while Viktor, still in his slim (breathtaking) maroon suit, wandered in holding a glass in his hand. A prop drink? It must have been. Their dance was a push and pull, Viktor desperately reaching for Peta who looked as though she wanted nothing more than to run into his arms while pushing him away at the same time. A couple in love, fighting and unsure of how to deal with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter that he had almost no relationship experience - the emotion in their faces was clear and told a compelling story. I love yous and I’m sorrys and It’s not good enoughs rang out in his head as he watched, wondering how they pulled such emotional reactions together on the dance floor, how deeply they had to reach to find that kind of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it ended with Viktor on his knees, slumped over as if nothing else mattered, a small sound caught in Yuuri’s throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He should never have to look like that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought. No one should have to feel that pain, least of all someone like Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pain, though, was worth a perfect score. The ballroom exploded when it was announced, and in stark contrast to their dance, Viktor and Peta burst out laughing and cheering as he picked her up and swung her around in circles, kissing her cheeks before he put her down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like figure skating all over again, watching this cold, remote figure dominate the competition without even trying. Of course there was effort and there was practice, but Viktor made it look so easy, and for not the first time since leaving Detroit, Yuuri felt… small. Worthless. Insignificant. There was no way to beat a perfect score, only tie it, and while it might be a long shot, it could be possible for him to do it. There were no jumps to hold him back. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>element. Spins, step sequences, presentation. This was something he could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That confidence lasted until he was standing backstage with Julianne, waiting for the set pieces that Paige and Artem had used to be put away and their set piece taken out. With a look of panic, he turned toward Julianne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I can’t do this?” he asked in a strangled whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if you can?” she answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he did. He leaned his back against the lamppost prop that they had requested as he watched Julianne be literally swept off her feet by one of the corps dancers. He watched as she was spun and lifted and the moment the playboy stepped away, Yuuri stepped in and pulled her into his arms. She smiled at him and he relaxed a little into the dance, into the story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other dancer had left the stage, and so Yuuri imagined that the playboy who he was supposed to be proving wrong was standing behind the judges, watching intently. He stared him down or glowered in turn before turning back to Julianne with sweetness and gentleness as he tried to convey his story. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t need him. He’s only here for a little while, and he’ll leave you in the end. Let me take care of you - let me love you. You’re so important and you don’t see it, but let me stay with you. Things will be okay now. I promise I won’t hurt you. I lov-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That was too far. Yuuri might have stuttered a step, he wasn’t sure, and it was there and gone so quickly that he didn’t have even half a second to think about it. Their tango took them around the dance floor, covering more ground than he thought possible, and once in a while he caught a flash of silver hair in the corner of his eye as he moved past the sky box where the competitors waited. He tried not to dwell on it too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end, they were a sweaty mess, emotionally wrung out like an old dishrag, and ready to collapse on the floor, but the cheers of the audience were worth it. Yuuri beamed at Julianne, at Tom and Erin, at the judges, the cameras as his anxiety was temporarily pushed aside in favor of a sense of accomplishment. He had done it! After days and days of not thinking it was possible to pull off the story, he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, as if the universe was right back to kicking him in the gut, they called for a commercial break before his scores. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink,” Viktor muttered. Well, that wasn’t true. He couldn’t find a bottle of water anywhere - wasn’t craft services supposed to be around here? He was dying of thirst under all of the lights they had set up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katsuki can’t pass him,” a voice around a corner said insistently. Viktor paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The steps were good,” another voice - Len Goodman - said. “His presentation was spot on. He deserves the score.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>pass him, Len,” the first voice continued. “We argue about this every year. There’s a plan, you know there is. Make something up if you have to! Didn’t he stutter a step somewhere? Use that, or a droopy arm, or something. All I’m telling you is the boss says that Katsuki isn’t allowed to have that score and you’re the ones that have to make it happen. Now get out there and make a show of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blood in Viktor’s veins turned to ice. What were they talking about? Something about Yuuri not being able to do something. Or have something. Something. His quest for water forgotten, Viktor hurried back up to the sky box before the commercial break was over. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to see what was about to happen. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Judges, your scores please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music played, drawing out the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“10!” The crowd screamed in excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“10!” Bruno’s voice could hardly be heard over the continued cheering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“9.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noises faltered. 9? How could Yuuri Katsuki, who had easily performed the best dance of the night and of the show so far, get a 9? The cheering was interrupted in intervals by muttering or by the odd boo. Tom and Erin worked quickly to regain control of the crowd and reminded them that there would be a bye week on the show, and that they would see them in two weeks for another performance, before quickly signing off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What had just happened?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>apologies to our blond angry smol for using his costume for yuuri<br/>come yell at me about this on tumblr (akitoes) or twitter (violettdelights)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>[ a series of images that appear to be taken from a note app read the following:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you’re a fan of Yuuri Katsuki, then you know that he’s worked hard all his life. He has an undeniable skill - it’s not a natural talent for jumping, or the style senses to create every costume from scratch in a specific image, but it’s more important than that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hard work. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri has fought for everything - every PB, every medal no matter what color, every ribbon, every step sequence, spin, jump, competition, everything. He has bled for this sport more than anyone I know. He has given more sweat and tears on the ice than I thought possible. He has spent more hours in the dance studio, in the gym, on the ice than any one person should be able to handle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Do you know why? Because Yuuri is a natural dancer, not a natural skater. But he has spent his whole life working for something that he loves, rather than something that comes easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now here we are, in LA, and I’m watching my best friend fight for what he loves on a dance floor when he should be able to sweep the competition and not break a sweat. It’s a totally different experience than supporting his skating the last few years, and yet his work ethic hasn’t changed. He’s not taking the easy way out here. He’s demanding that his dance partner push him every step of the way, wanting to achieve something because he’s GOOD at it, not because it’s an easy win. He wants his skills to be recognized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It kills me that ABC doesn’t appear to be able to do that. In my sport there’s something called the “Russian Effect”. We’re all so used to competing against the machine of Russian skating that we’re basically fighting for second place. Even at the Junior level, I’ve heard my rinkmates complain that they’ll never get gold their entire career because there’s a Russian skating in the same competitions as them. It might not be fair. It might not even be real. But there’s a perception that there are people who are so good at what they do - naturally or otherwise - that they’re already seen as getting first, and that the rest of us have to fight for scraps. Maybe it’s a real problem. Maybe it’s all in our heads. Either way, it has woven its way into the fabric of figure skating and has been that way for longer than I’ve been alive. I’m not saying it’s right. It just is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t be like that in dancing too. You shouldn’t take one look at someone and decide that they’re going to win or get a certain score because of what they look like or because of what they did before they stepped on a dance floor. You can have a flawed practice and come out swinging. You can have a perfect rehearsal and still mess up at the last minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My best friend was robbed of a perfect score. I don’t know why. But if you watched last night then you know that what he did was amazing. If you’ve followed his career, then you know that what he did was completely out of his wheelhouse and a freakin’ delight and should be recognized as such. I’m not here to speak for Yuuri or talk about his personal experiences. I’m just a guy who wants his friend to succeed and be RECOGNIZED for his success. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I’m also the guy telling you that some quick googling reveals exactly where you should direct your calls and emails.]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>sala-crispino, christophe-gc, loveshamsters, and 2, 877 other people like this post</span>
</p><p>
  <b>phichit+chu </b>
  <span>Yuuri Katsuki was robbed and you should know about this #dwts #dancingwiththestars #yuurikatsuki #wtf #justiceforyuuri</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>we’re sorry, but comments have been disabled on this post</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if they hadn’t been taking a week off from the show, Tuesday still would have found Yuuri under a pile of pillows and blankets, hiding from the world and from his cell phone and refusing to get out of bed. He couldn’t help but think about that first conversation with the producer, and the mess that it had created in his head. Had that finally gotten to him? Was he cracking under pressure </span>
  <em>
    <span>again? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe last night was the result of this whole process - he thought he had been great. Clearly he was wrong. He still wasn’t good enough. He never would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“....important that we… present the right image to the public. Tell a story they want to hear.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Was any of this real? Was it worth it? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Comments that were made about your taking inspiration from your fellow figure skaters were taken in a certain context, and have created an opportunity for our show.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have just kept his mouth shut. If Yuuri had just kept his head down and avoided attention like he had been trying to do his whole life, maybe none of this would have happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...rival storyline...it will be well received by audiences… since you can’t take the gold from him there...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri had been fooling himself this whole time. He would never be good enough to be true competition for Viktor, and here he was cracking under the pressure again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even Phichit was there to comfort him in this hour of anxiety-ridden misery. His best friend, at Yuuri’s own apparently self-destructive insistence, had taken this opportunity to fly home since he wasn’t going home for the off-season like he normally would. He had left a few hours after the show had been filmed, staying long enough to hug Yuuri while he sobbed, curse the universe soundly, and buy an impressive amount of blue Gatorade, Pocky, and chocolate covered pretzels from a nearby convenience store. He would be gone for a week and a half or so, coming back a few days before the show was due to tape again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his own in LA, Yuuri wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He could call Leo, if he ever removed himself from the pile of blankets he was intent on living in, or maybe just spend every day in the gym or skating. There was a song he was messing with, in the event that he didn’t leave skating. He hadn’t even told Phichit yet - his friend would get his hopes up too much, and Yuuri couldn’t bear to let him down again. Instead, he skated to the Dean Fujioka song alone, marking jumps rather than practicing without supervision, putting everything that hurt him into it and leaving it all on the ice. Of course, after last night, the last thing he wanted to do was move. Or dance. Or skate. Or leave the bed ever again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idly, he wondered if it was possible to just sleep for the next six and a half days until he had to start practicing again. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>LA was beginning to suffocate Viktor. At first he welcomed the noise and the constant activity, so much like his home but entirely alien at the same time. There was always something going on - something to do, someone to see, a performance to take in, a museum to visit - but now it felt like so much white noise that was stopping him from actually relaxing for once. With that anxiety buzzing up and down his spine and the free time he was suddenly facing, Viktor made his excuses to Peta and his new dancing friends and booked a trip out of town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Summerland, for only being an hour and a half away, was perfect. The sleepy seaside town was Los Angeles’ polar opposite. Viktor had rented a house near the beach on a whim, loading up a rental car with only the essential clothes, Makkachin, and left town early - so early that the silence left behind from the lack of traffic was deafening. . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/20191053?check_in=2020-11-16&amp;check_out=2020-11-20&amp;source_impression_id=p3_1603570561_uFZJ4XB6BjfzIcWZ">
    <span>house</span>
  </a>
  <span> was perfect. Makkachin let out soft, happy boofs as she ran around exploring, happy to have more space than the hotel suite they had been staying in so far. The salt in the air from the nearby beach was unmistakable, and for the first time in weeks Viktor felt relaxed. Possibly even happy, if he could remember what that felt like. Happiness had been fleeting since Sochi, taken in small stolen moments where he almost felt guilty for feeling something other than competitive drive and focus. But how could he not feel happy as he watched the furry love of his life bound around before jumping on the couch to curl up among pillows? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After several hours of lounging and exploring, Viktor decided on actual grocery shopping instead of ordering takeout, and hooked Makkachin to a leash before walking to a nearby market. He didn’t need or want much, just enough to get them through a day in the hopes that shopping so little at a time would force him to get out and interact with people more often than he usually did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he walked to the store, pausing every once in a while for Makkachin to sniff at flowers or trees, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through Instagram. Chris had posted a new photo, bolts of fabric and bags of rhinestones evident as he teased his new costumes. Yuri had posted yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat picture, while Mila had posted a video of Yakov yelling at Yuri about quads in the background while she looked into the camera like it was an episode of The Office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next picture, however, was surprising and guilt-inducing at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Phichit has gone back to Thailand to visit his family, but he made sure I won’t forget him (like that would be possible)! #bestfriend #phichuuri #hemademeusethattag” </span>
  </em>
  <span>accompanied a picture of a printout of Phichit Chulanont’s face taped to a pillow on what was clearly a hotel bed. In the corner of the picture there were several now empty bottles of Gatorade and a crumpled bag of what looked like chocolate pretzels. Yuuri was alone? For how long? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could second guess, rationalize, be reasonable, or do anything more than follow the whim that had just carried him away, Viktor switched over to his text messages. Emailing wouldn’t do. Not for this. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yuuri! How are you spending your week off? Are you and Phichit going to Disneyland without me again? :(((((</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited, watching the typing bubble pop up and disappear several times before he read </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, he’s gone home to see family. I might go skating? Maybe find something new to see. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfect! It was just the opening he needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know what you can do! Come visit Makka and I in Summerland! There’s plenty of new things to see here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And someone not new, but Viktor refused to dwell on that for the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, the typing bubble appeared and disappeared for a significantly longer time. Was Yuuri angry at him? Maybe he didn’t want to see him Maybe he was afraid that Viktor was trying to screw him over in the competition and he didn’t want to work together anymore… Nevermind the fact that Viktor’s less well-mannered corner of his brain had thought about a different kind of screwing several times since Sochi. Not that Yuuri needed to know that. Or would want to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t dwell on Sochi right now. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There had been enough moping and he was moving on, damnit. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe for a day? I don’t want to impose. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The answer was shockingly short compared to how long Yuuri appeared to have been typing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pack for something overnight, just in case! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Viktor answered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or at least a change of clothes for the beach. Everyone needs a break!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ok. See you… tomorrow I guess?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck did I just agree to? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For his part in the insanity, Yuuri blamed the chocolate pretzels. He could never be held responsible for his actions when chocolate pretzels were involved. But what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>excuse? Being an artistic genius only gave you so much license to do weird things, and this was probably beyond that. Probably. Mostly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was tired, though. He was tired of this hotel room. Of the dance studio. Of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ice rink</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of everything that had surrounded him for weeks, and of thinking and overthinking every step that he took. It didn’t matter what he did - the show would carry him along long enough to be dramatic, and then it would drop him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, for a minute and a half, he didn’t think. He just typed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ok. See you… tomorrow I guess?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he promptly spent the next twenty minutes hyperventilating in the shower, thinking about every possible reason that Viktor might be doing this (including, but not limited to - sabotaging him, trying to find out what his routines were for next year [why, though?], getting information on Phichit, getting information on Sara, breaking his legs so he couldn’t continue dancing, drowning him in the ocean, feeding him to Makkachin, and poisoning him) and then forty five minutes of packing and repacking a bag, trying to figure out what one wore when hanging out (casually?) with a literal international sports star who looked like they stepped off of a magazine shoot at any given second of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No pressure, right? Whatever voice said that in Yuuri’s brain sounded suspiciously like Phichit, and he was tempted to stick his tongue out at Pillow-chit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, as it always did, the anxiety left him as soon as it came and left a burnt out mess in its wake. Yuuri was lucky to set an alarm before collapsing on the bed and pulling the covers over himself, dead to the world as soon as he settled on the pillow. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked up at the house - no, more like a mansion - and checked the address that Viktor sent him for the third time. He couldn’t help but feel like that meme that he and Phichit sent back and forth about skating videos. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought softly, but with a lot of feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lot of conflicting feelings. It seemed that Viktor’s skating philosophy of not doing things by halves extended to the rest of his life as well. If Yuuri had rented a house on the beach (that was a large if, he probably never would have) it would have been a teeny tiny one room place to share with Phichit and probably so far from the beach that they wouldn’t be able to walk there. This gigantic house, literally steps from the sand, was overwhelming to look at. He was still looking up, gazing at the floaty curtains waving in open windows when he was knocked flat on his ass by something brown and very wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makka, bad girl!” The Russian accent was unmistakable, disapproving but also full of mirth. It seemed that Viktor had lost control of his dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His very wet dog who smelled like lavender and the ocean and looked so much like Vicchan that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yuuri’s eyes burned with tears - a fact quickly hidden by the water dripping from Makkachin’s face onto his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor appeared in the corner of his vision, a towel slung over one shoulder as he looked down with concern. “I’m sorry about Makka. Normally she’s so well behaved! Though I think she was just looking for an excuse to escape her bath when she heard your car lock beep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind,” Yuuri said, once he recovered from the physical and emotional shock of being glomped onto. “She’s a good girl.” He sat up and buried his hands in the fur on the sides of her face, scratching gently. “That’s right, you’re a good girl. You’re the best girl,” he cooed. “Such a good baby… Did you not like your bath? Poor thing…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up, Yuuri saw that Viktor had a strange, almost strangled sort of look on his face. Had Yuuri done something wrong? Or maybe he thought Yuuri was strange for talking to Makkachin like that…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry!” Yuuri yelped. “I totally forgot to ask permission before petting her, I’m really sorry. She’s so sweet though and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was cut off by Viktor’s laugh, and then the hand that he held out to help the other man up to his feet. “It’s fine. She just doesn’t take to new people so quickly. She really likes you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Come on. You should probably get cleaned up, and then we can go find lunch!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a little filler chapter to move things along before things get *interesting*</p><p>new twitter handle! find me at weirdlyworded and lets cry about our ice boys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Viktor made it easy to forget why Yuuri had to be wary of him, or of his invitation to the beach. One afternoon had extended into an overnight trip, which had extended into the next day. That time had been filled with walks with Makkachin, picking up books at the local shop to read on the beach, one very ill-advised nap on the beach which resulted in a quick trip for aloe vera and both of them wincing at the pain in their shoulders whenever they laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laughed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Viktor told him stories about working with Peta, about the times that he had made Yakov so angry that his coach’s face seemed to turn purple, about Mila and Georgi and Alexei and Anya and the rest of his rinkmates, about Christophe… anything. Yuuri added his own stories occasionally, talking about the pranks that Phichit played (he pled innocence every time), about skating with Yuuko when he was younger, and his own disastrous college days when people tried to drag him out to parties but spent the whole time looking for a dog to play with. He even talked about the time he had gotten drunk after a failed competition and cried over videos of poodle puppies because they were just too small, which led to Viktor’s stories about drunken nights out with Georgi and the reason why his rinkmate wasn’t allowed to have his phone on those nights - drunk calling an ex a few too many times and too many calls to radio stations to request Guns and Roses, as it turned out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talked about everything except the show until Friday evening, when it couldn’t be avoided anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chinese takeout boxes littered the table between them as they sat sideways on the deck lounge chairs, facing each other. Yuuri was poking at his low mein and avoiding looking at Viktor, who appeared to be avoiding looking at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are we going to talk about the elephant on the deck or should we just take Makkachin for a walk or something?” he joked, but as soon as the words left his mouth Yuuri could tell that they fell flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-” Viktor looked up, shocked, and a blush spread across his cheekbones and nose. “Elephant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he had been living in America too long. “Elephant in the room? It’s a phrase that means something awkward or obvious that no one wants to talk about. Sorry - I swear, half of the English Phichit and I learned probably came from the stupid shows he liked to watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor shook his head. “No, I understand what you meant. But what is the awkward thing you want to talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The results from the last show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri watched curiously as Viktor went noticeably pale - which was very pale for the already fair-skinned Russian - and then a very bright shade of red right after. It was weird, but maybe he was just as embarrassed by Yuuri’s performance as he was. That was entirely possible, considering how awkward Yuuri must have looked, technical elements aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about it?” the Russian mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think…” Yuuri sighed. “I think they overscored me. I know I messed up, and you got such a good score that I think they overscored me so they can keep the rivalry going. I’m sorry. With this whole rivalry thing set up, my mistakes reflect on you too, you know? They want this image that I’m going to be able to beat you, but with how badly I did, it throws doubt on your own performance. I didn’t want to take away from your perfect score. You deserved it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The distant crashing of waves filled the empty space between them. Yuuri wasn’t sure what he was waiting for - explosive anger? Cold dismissal? Polite denials and a brush off? As much as he knew Viktor - and he was pretty sure he knew at least part of him after years of watching the man - he wasn’t sure how he would react when upset, if this upset him at all. He was a master of public appearances, and Yuuri hadn’t once heard a story about him losing his temper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hadn’t been prepared for Viktor to quietly set down his takeout container and chopsticks, mumble an excuse about needing to take a walk, and take the small staircase from the deck to the beach before disappearing. Makkachin whined before bounding after him, leaving Yuuri still on his deck chair with a distinct feeling that he did something wrong but he wasn’t entirely sure what. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But what is the awkward thing you want to talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The results from the last show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri’s answer had made his stomach drop - did he know that the scores were fixed? That Viktor had overheard and hadn’t done anything about it? The shame and guilt of that still churned in his gut, but where could he turn? The gossip rags were always speculating that these shows weren’t real, the production team was in on it… he could talk to Chris about it but it wouldn’t fix anything, and it still left him feeling like he needed a shower for his conscience no matter what option he picked or if he didn’t pick any of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had prepared himself for shouting, for accusations, tears, anything that Yuuri might throw at him. If he was in his place, being placed in an unfair competition against one of the greats of his generation (Lambiel came to mind, of course) he would want to rage at the universe that it wasn’t fair. Yuuri hadn’t done that as far as he knew, but if the only reason he had agreed to the trip was to yell at Viktor in peace, he wouldn’t argue the logic of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he got apologies and the worry that Yuuri was making </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>look bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor couldn’t take it after that. He was angry for Yuuri, not at him, and he was afraid of what he might say if he stayed. Leaving for a walk on the beach was the safest option - Lilia had ingrained a sense of self-preservation into him from a young age that </span>
  <em>
    <span>when you feel like you are going to lose your temper, Viktor Leonidovich, you must walk away. Anger and tears are for family, not for the public.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Family meaning Lilia and Yakov, as ill-equipped as they were to handle his moods as a boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he often did when he had time to himself and Yuuri on his mind, Viktor thought about the banquet. He preferred not to dwell on the outcome of it all, but on the fleeting happy feelings from that night. Laughter that he couldn’t contain, fizzing through his blood like champagne, nearly slipping on the dance floor because his dress shoes were too new and slick on the bottom, catching Yura in a hug along with Mila while the small blond boy screamed in irritation. And more than anything, the feeling of being held by someone, of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>and understood, something that he had tried to do with his skating for years with no success. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reconciling that Yuuri with the quiet, apologetic man that he had just walked away from was difficult for Viktor. How had someone who had the ability to sweep a whole room off its feet and make every person there fall in love with him even a little bit (or more than a little bit, on Viktor’s part) crumble under such circumstances? Where was that agency? That self-possession? It frustrated him to no end that Yuuri seemed to accept someone thinking he was anything less than awe-inspiring and brilliant when that was just the tip of the iceberg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he made his way back to the house, Yuuri was no longer outside. Their dinner had been cleaned up too. Viktor wandered inside and found Yuuri in the kitchen, carefully packaging up leftovers and putting them in the fridge, labeling who had ordered what, and washing the glasses and the few pieces of silverware that they had used. He stood there, awkwardly watching, trying to find the words that would push past the lump in his throat to set whatever had gone wrong right. Viktor </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>things to be right between them, even if he needed that more than Yuuri ever would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri-” Viktor started, before his words died in his throat again. He swallowed hard against them, trying to find what to say. “Yuuri, you have more musicality in your pinkie finger than most skaters will ever have in their lifetimes. More than anyone in this ridiculous competition, even me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to disagree, but Viktor held a hand up to stop him. “No, you need to hear this. Just because some second-rate producer of a reality competition show says you’re not good enough doesn’t mean that’s true. You’re one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>top six skaters in the entire world</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re Japan’s Ace. The figure skating face of your country - that means something. You dance beautifully, creating a story that no one can ignore. You enthrall the crowds-” Viktor was aware that he was probably rambling, judging by the way Yuuri stepped closer and looked at him with concern. “You make it so people can’t look away from you. So that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t look away from you. If you skate like you danced this last week, so beautifully and seductive and fantastically sharp, you could break every record that I hold-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand on his wrist caused Viktor to pause. Yuuri had reached for him, warm fingers wrapping around his arm just above the wrist bone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say that again.” It sounded like a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor smiled in spite of himself, hesitantly. “Which part?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a flush creeping up Yuuri’s neck and face. “The part where you said you can’t…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>For once, it seemed that the blunt honesty that he often fell into wasn’t a bad thing. “I can’t look away from you when you dance. It’s beautiful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>beautiful.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your eyes are beautiful,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re brown and gold and honey and amber, like whiskey and fall leaves.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It didn’t occur to Viktor to wonder why Yuuri was close enough that he could wax poetic about the man’s eyes until-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-until he was being kissed senseless by Yuuri Katsuki, months after the same man had drunkenly begged him to stay the night. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>YUURI AND VIKTOR SITTING IN A TREE K-I-S-S-I-N-G</p><p>eternal thanks to solnyshko_uk for putting up with my bullshit and telling me when to post, even though it usually just hurts her soul later on</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In that quiet space between sleep and being awake, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel… happy. Content. It was so odd for him to feel that way without the ever present shadow of anxiety in the background, but for once his mind wasn’t buzzing with how many different ways something could go wrong before he even left the bed. The bed… there was something about his bed… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting up with a jolt, Yuuri looked around the blurry room wildly. Why the hell couldn’t he remember going to bed last night? Or how he got there? Or what happened after-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh holy mother of Midori Ito. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn’t remember what happened after he </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissed</span>
  </em>
  <span> Viktor Nikiforov. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was kind of a lie. Yuuri knew he wasn’t the most reliable person in the morning, even at - he paused to check his phone on the nightstand - ten forty five on a Saturday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tired Yuuri at least had more memories than Drunk Yuuri, but at that moment he wished he was drunk so he couldn’t remember any of the probably mortifying things he did to Viktor. With Viktor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The longer he sat there awake, heart racing, though, the more he remembered. It was like watching his own life happen in flashes on a movie screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way that, after a few seconds of stunned silence, Viktor melted into the kiss and kissed Yuuri back with so much emotion and intensity that he thought he might cry from it. (Yuuri was sure he was projecting.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor pushing him up against the refrigerator behind him, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to trace small circles on his sides as he kissed his way down and then back up Yuuri’s neck all while Yuuri gasped breathlessly and pulled Viktor closer (feeling all the while like it was never close enough, and if he could crawl inside Viktor’s rib cage and live there curled up around his heart for eternity he would). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tripping over their feet to get to the couch, landing among the cushions. Yuuri dragging his nails lightly up and down Viktor’s back as the other man mumbled at him in Russian between kisses. Feeling lightheaded during all of it and gasping for air whenever one of them was forced to pull apart for a few seconds. What was oxygen in the face of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing, nothing at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Makkachin jumping on the couch too, thinking it was time to play. They laughed at her antics before Viktor threw one of her stuffed toys across the living room to distract her, linking his fingers in Yuuri’s and pulling him along to the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god, the bedroom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yuuri felt his face flame. He could still feel the hot press of Viktor’s hands against his skin, the laughter that bubbled out as they fumbled with each other’s clothes, stripping down to their underwear before they lost all patience. Grinding against each other as they kissed, the rub of fabric against his erection sending little lightning bolts up and down his spine as they made out like desperate, sloppy teenagers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look in Viktor’s eyes, so full of something Yuuri couldn’t quite put a finger on (and he was scared to try, here in the bright light of the morning where he would probably project his own emotions onto it all), as he quietly asked Yuuri what he wanted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything anything everything please just you you </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>you</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought in a jumble. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever you want,</span>
  </em>
  <span> said out loud. Tentative, soft touches over his boxer briefs before fingers slipped inside to draw him out, stroking gently while he swallowed moan after moan, trying to find words for how much he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> in that moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There hadn’t been any coherent thoughts after that, just a hurricane of emotions and sensations as Viktor pushed his own briefs out of the way, holding both of them and stroking them off together, pre come slicking his fingers and easing the friction. Yuuri caught a glimpse of the (lewd but admittedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely fucking hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>) sight when Viktor pressed kisses to his forehead and temple, whispered Russian filling his ears before he tipped over the edge of orgasm, the world fading away as he came into Viktor’s hand, the other man following him shortly. (Did he have a Russian language kink? Maybe. Or maybe it was just a Viktor thing, seeing as he didn’t actually know any other Russians [Yuri Plisetsky absolutely didn’t count.])</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly curling up together after Viktor brought in a washcloth to clean themselves. Drifting off together and waking up hours later, Yuuri’s chest cold in the exposed air. Wandering back to his room to find a pajama shirt and plug in his phone before coming back and finding out that Viktor Nikiforov and Makkachin - Living Legend and Best Dog in Existence - are bed hogs, and smiling tiredly before climbing into his own bed and wrapping himself up in a blanket nest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pleasant memories faded, leaving only the realization that he had had sex with Viktor, and while fifteen-year-old Yuuri would be thrilled, twenty-three-year-old Yuuri was mortified. What if it was bad? What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was bad? Viktor hadn’t noticed that he was awake, obviously, otherwise he would know - did Viktor not want to talk to him? Maybe he needed to go back to the hotel room and bury himself under a pile of chocolate pretzels - conveniently forgetting that he blamed those same pretzels for short circuiting his decision making processes and landing him in this house in the first place. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Liar, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor could say jump and you would ask how many rotations even if it killed you doing it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh there you are,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. The unpleasant but familiar buzz was back to the edge of his thoughts, crawling up and down his spine and leaving nervous energy in its wake. Yuuri could feel the need to move and knew he had to do something about it before he found himself sitting in the bottom of a shower having a breakdown. He needed to talk to Viktor. He needed to go for a run, or dance, or skate. Oh god, how he needed to skate. Yuuri needed the ice more than anything at that moment, but he was pretty sure he was shit out of luck on that front. Grabbing his phone, he checked the time again and saw a message he missed earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Next time Makka tries to kick you out of bed, remind her that she has to share me now okay? Going for a run, back in an hour. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was timestamped ten thirty. Yuuri sagged in relief. Viktor was used to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor was used to this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of course skating’s playboy was used to his dog trying to kick random people out of bed. Yuuri definitely needed some space to dance now before his anxiety drowned out everything. Throwing on his gym shorts and grabbing his phone, he set off through the house, determined to find a space big enough that he could dance himself back to exhaustion before he broke down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even want to think about the first two words of that message. He couldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor woke up to cold sheets and panicked. It was Sochi all over again, but instead of standing in front of a vacant hotel room, he was in bed alone. This was so much worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting up, he saw what he was fairly certain was the reason for that. Makkachin didn’t sploot so much as starfish, and appeared to have taken over part of the bed when Yuuri got up for some reason - to go to the bathroom maybe? It was a bad habit of hers, and one that he had done nothing to discourage over the years since he lived alone and rarely had anyone spend the night unless you counted Yuri crashing on the couch or Georgi crashing on the couch and then sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night to spoon (even though he denied it the next morning. In bed. With Viktor). Between that and insisting on buying her the largest, squishiest dog bed possible, he had essentially created a space-hogging monster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was much later than he would have liked to wake up, and much more lonely, but he supposed he would have to work on breaking Makka of her habits now because he had no intention of sleeping alone ever again if he had anything to say about it - if Yuuri was willing, of course. Viktor hoped he was - hoped for it so much that it hurt. When he went in search of Yuuri to try and convince him to go back to bed, he found the other man curled up in a pile of blankets and looking so soft and comfortable that Viktor didn’t dare disturb him. Instead, he gathered his things to go for a run, left Yuuri a text message (even though it was incredibly impersonal, he would have rather woken him up with a kiss) and set out. His run wouldn’t take terribly long, but he planned to stop and get coffee and bagels on his way back. A small, vicious corner of his brain asked him if Yuuri would even be here to have breakfast with him when he came back, but he tried to push that voice down as much as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking back in the house with breakfast in hand, Viktor heard the faint strains of </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5iYRWTqbco">
    <span>music</span>
  </a>
  <span> and set the cups and bag of bagels down before following. He desperately needed a shower and his shirt and running shorts needed a wash, but they could wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the living room, down a hallway, up a set of stairs and then another one to the open attic space that had been designed as a playroom for children of the guests, only instead of finding a television or radio left on, he found Yuuri with his eyes closed, dancing as though his life depended on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though the floor was hardwood, Yuuri hardly made a sound as he marked leaps, twisting gracefully from those into turns and choreographic sequences so seamless Viktor wondered if this was something he had been dancing for years. It was a wild, reaching series of movements as if Yuuri had seen something he needed and it kept slipping from his hands, or he had it and lost it and wanted it again - or, Viktor mused, he could just be projecting what he wanted onto Yuuri and his movements. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so engrossed in Yuuri’s movements that he hardly noticed the lyrics, but when he did his stomach flipped. Was he projecting again, or did it actually mean something? Viktor was excellent at interpreting music when it was something he had selected for a program, and when there was a clear story it was easy to see, but this jumble of emotions made him nervous. It wasn’t easy for him to read - Yuuri never had been, of course, but this made him more nervous than any previous time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nCXekqiqNo">
    <span>changed</span>
  </a>
  <span> and he dropped to the floor - Viktor would have been alarmed and might have drawn attention to himself but Yuuri rolled into a stretch. Eventually, Viktor began to feel like he was intruding, and he cleared his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought breakfast. Well, kind of breakfast. It’s bagels and coffee,” he said, feeling incredibly awkward but trying to cover it with a smile. “Are you interested?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you interested in me? In this? Are you going to run again? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri grinned at him, and Viktor was almost certain that it looked… brittle. Maybe fake.. “Yeah, that would be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>v-nikiforov: remember how you owe me for paris two years ago?<br/></span>
  <span>christophe-gc: yes, cheri. Why do i get the uncomfortable feeling you’re about to collect?</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>v-nikiforov: because i am. I am calling on our friend pact of secrets to never let this conversation see the light of day after today<br/></span>
  <span>christophe-gc: I’m all ears then, go ahead</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>v-nikiforov: i feel like an idiot teenager, chris. <br/></span>
  <span>christophe-gc: you’d better have more than that to make this </span>
  <span>favor worth it</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>v-nikiforov: yuuri kissed me and we ended up in bed together<br/></span>
  <span>christophe-gc: please see my last message</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>v-nikiforov: and then makka was a bed hog and instead of waking up with him i woke up alone and i went to get breakfast and came back and he was dancing (???) and just looked so anxious and heartbroken and sochi was bad enough and what if its this all over again but we’re in the same country this time<br/></span>
  <span>christophe-gc: so… you don’t want me to tell the world that you’re pathetic and are terrible at talking to another human being<br/></span>
  <span>v-nikiforov: ….correct. isn’t this what best friends do? listen to each other cry about boys?</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leaning across the counter from each other, Yuuri tore off small pieces of his bagel and ate it slowly, sipping on his coffee between bites. Viktor was more methodical, having cut his bagel in half and spreading peanut butter on it, eating with one hand and typing on his phone with the other. How exactly did one bring up the fact that they slept with the other person they were eating breakfast with, while completely unsure if the other person liked it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri got the feeling that if he text Phichit that, his friends head would explode after laughing himself to death over how stupid Yuuri was being. Yuur </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling pretty stupid about everything, but it wasn’t like he had done this before! Usually his hookups were a result of too much alcohol and too little supervision by that night’s designated sober friend, and both parties involved were too hungover to try and talk things out or remember each other’s names, usually promising to get coffee or text each other and never actually doing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Viktor put his phone down and looked steadily at Yuuri over his cup of coffee. Was he going to ask Yuuri to leave? Make some kind of comment about last night? Yuuri couldn’t imagine what he would say about it - surely Viktor had had enough mindblowing sex in his life that what had happened with Yuuri paled so much in comparison that it was practically transparent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go to the beach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The piece of bagel that was in midair, partway to his mouth, fell out of Yuuri’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha- What?” Yuuri asked dumbly. “The beach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor looked at him and smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Yes, the beach. You know, the big sandy piece of land not that far away? People usually build sandcastles or take naps out there? Usually that’s where people go to relax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The puff of air that Yuuri let out made the hair hanging nearly in his eyes fluff a little bit. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what a beach is, Viktor. I grew up right next to one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did?” The surprise was evident in Viktor’s voice. “Let’s go to the beach and you can tell me more about how you know so much more about beaches than I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Going to the beach was purely an act of self-preservation - well, mostly. Viktor had intended it as a way to get Makkachin out of the house and have something else to focus on other than Yuuri’s eyes, and Yuuri’s hair, and Yuuri’s smile and… Well, Yuuri. But that act had bred more problems because Yuuri at the beach, eyes closed against the sunlight and the wind moving his hair, was even more captivating than Yuuri across the kitchen island. Unfortunately that distraction meant that he hadn’t heard all of what Yuuri was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-right on the water. There’s this big pine grove that borders the beach and it blocked out a lot of the traffic noise. It was like being someplace else entirely. It’s funny to think that it’s the same ocean though - the view from this side of it can be a lot nicer. Guess that’s the tourist stuff though, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor made a noncommittal noise that could be taken as an assent, or at least acknowledgement that he was listening, which he mostly was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri-” he started. Oh god, he was really going to do this. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Last night…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but notice Yuuri flush red, and it wasn’t even that warm out - why was he blushing? Was he embarrassed of Viktor? Sure, it had been a while since he had liked anyone enough to spend the night with them (all night or otherwise) but it couldn’t have been that bad, could it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last night doesn’t have to be the only time that happened. Or happens,” he said quickly. “If you want, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped Yuuri wanted, because Viktor did. He wanted all of it so badly that it hurt. He had been lonely before Sochi, feeling distant and detached from the world around him as he went through the motions of life without actually thinking or feeling anything. He went to practice, teased Yura, walked Makkachin, got drinks with Georgi, argued with Yakov, but none of it </span>
  <em>
    <span>mattered</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was what he had been doing for years. It was gray, dull, lifeless. It had been easy to ignore that hollow feeling in his heart and the sinking weight in his stomach that made him feel like he would never be able to do a quad flip again, he felt so heavy. It had taken a banquet - easily the most boring social function in Viktor’s life - to show him what he had been missing when Yuuri showed up. And now that he had it? He didn’t want to let it go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to let Yuuri go, and that made him scared and anxious and apparently incapable of communicating properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his part, Yuuri was looking at Viktor like he had grown a second head. Was the idea that unusual, that he would want to continue to spend time with Yuuri? Viktor was aware of his reputation as an international playboy, but that was all for show. Yuuri understood him, had really </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>him at the banquet, so why would it be such a surprise that he was lonely?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of answering any of Viktor’s (admittedly, unasked) questions, Yuuri just scooted closer to him on the sand until their arms touched, leaning comfortably into his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want that,” he mumbled in the direction of his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor was too elated to care about the mumbling or the fact that Yuuri hadn’t looked at him when he said it, and bowled over the other man out of joy, kissing him until they were both breathless while sand worked its way into places that it should never be.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I SWEAR WE WILL GET BACK TO THE SHOW SOON OKAY<br/>let them be happy before reality sets in. shh. just enjoy. </p><p>authors, unlike gremlins, can be fed after midnight (or any time of day) and mainly subsist on kudos and comments. please consider feeding a hungry author in your life</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Monday morning arrived disgustingly early for Yuuri - too bright and too loud and completely at odds with his mood. The last two days had felt too good to be real, and he supposed that it was only right that they would have to leave this beachy little bubble of happiness and go back to reality. Well, reality television. The thought left him feeling slightly melancholy, down and withdrawn as he tried to put himself back in the frame of mind needed to deal with the rest of the world. At least Phichit wouldn’t be back yet - Yuuri knew that his half-assed poker face about all of this didn’t stand a chance around his best friend. Hell, even alone he didn’t have much of a poker face about the fact that he was apparently in some kind of pseudo-something with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What even was his life right now? Some kind of fever dream?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably for the best - whatever momentary lapse in sanity had caused him to agree to be Viktor’s… whatever he was couldn’t last forever, and he was sure that once Viktor got back to actual society with real people he would realize what a bridge troll Yuuri really was and leave him behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Selfishly, Yuuri hoped the delusion would continue, but he knew better. Viktor was the type of man who had the world laid out before him, everything his for the taking and ready to do whatever he asked. Yuuri couldn’t help but feel twisted and a little rusty next to someone like that, unable to get through the day without even a minor setback. Thinking about being without Viktor hurt, but Yuuri was used to hurting - you didn’t strap blades to your feet and skate on frozen water if you weren’t prepared for some bumps and bruises. Sure, it was his heart getting bruised, but that wasn’t really a new feeling either, only that this time someone else was doing the bruising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t mean that he hadn’t enjoyed every minute of this temporary insanity. Viktor was incredibly tactile, always reaching for Yuuri to grab his hand or pull him in the direction of a shop that just caught his eye, playing with his hair while they watched television or a movie, and wrapping around him like a very cuddly octopus at night (once they had been wrapped around each other in other ways, of course). He listened with genuine interest and curiosity, asking questions and even trying to say some of the Japanese words that Yuuri had used. That last part hadn’t gone too well, but it had been a good laugh, and just as embarrassing as Viktor trying to teach Yuuri Russian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching his arm out from the cocoon of blankets he had been wrapped in, Yuuri felt around for his phone and glasses, pulling them back into the bubble of warmth. As he had done every morning since that first one, he had sent Yuuri a text with how long he would be out on a run, and asking what coffee or tea he wanted before he came back to the beach house. There was already a sweet domesticity and familiarity about the gesture that he tried not to dwell too closely on, or the fact that it was followed immediately by the thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of everyone to love, why did I have to love a morning person?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that really an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ moment though? Of course Yuuri loved Viktor. He loved Viktor Nikiforov in the sense that the man was an awe inspiring genius who created programs that could, and did, make grown men weep. He had idolized Viktor and the craft they shared since he was fifteen years old, held a distant crush for the Russian for nearly as long, and not two weeks ago realized that he maybe, possibly, insanely actually liked him for him. (Not that it was crazy - Viktor was ridiculously likeable. It was just that Yuuri never thought he would get the chance to find that out.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, it seemed, things had progressed to love. Or puppy love. Or whatever hormonal induced honeymoon phase of sleeping with someone that Yuuri had never gotten around to because relationships hadn’t been a priority and made his anxiety skyrocket otherwise, but here he was in the bed they’d shared (Makkachin started sleeping on a proper dog bed after an afternoon of pouting at Yuuri about being displaced), looking at his phone with an idiotic grin on his face as he contemplated whether Viktor would remember to get him almond milk in his coffee instead of whole milk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of this was swiftly brought crashing down by the realization that they were driving - separately - back to LA today and back to the show so they could begin rehearsing. Julianne had already been texting him the previous evening, prodding him into ideas for the next week of the show. The Broadway theme wasn’t exactly his thing - he knew of the classics, of course, and had watched The King and The Skater more times than he could count (and could already hear Phichit lament that the show had never made it to Broadway and what a </span>
  <em>
    <span>travesty</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was that it wasn’t as appreciated in American musical circles as it was in other countries) but there were one or two songs he had been toying with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than anything, Yuuri wanted to ask Viktor for his advice. He always had the perfect music for a program, always chose something that helped him convey a story and emotions in a way that no one else could. Yuuri, on the other had, had let his coach pick his music for years, and look where that spinelessness had gotten him - bottom of the roster at the Grand Prix Final and shamefully considering retirement because he didn’t have the guts to be a real performer like Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri got his chance while they were eating lunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has Peta talked to you about rehearsal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor hummed his assent while he poked around in the box of salad for another cherry tomato. “She suggested some music but I told her that I already have something in line, and that she shouldn’t worry about it. And what about Julianne?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Removing his glasses, Yuuri rubbed at the bridge of his nose where they sat. “She messaged me the other night about ideas.” He didn’t bother elaborating - Viktor had been sitting right next to him on the couch and could have read the whole conversation if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the best way to pick music?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question was rushed and Yuuri was flustered and embarrassed. He’d been skating for 8 years seriously, longer if you counted casually playing around with Yuuko on the ice, and he still had no idea how to go about picking his music. Sure, at least one exhibition program had been created out of spite, and many more influenced by Phichit’s music preferences, but he had to do this on his own. And while Yuuri was used to being on his own, that didn’t mean that he was happy with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of brushing it off though, Viktor looked at him consideringly, tapping his finger (distractingly) against his lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it depends on the story you want to tell, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sighed. “It’s not that simple this week. Anything we pick is already going to have a story attached - something that people already associated with it. How can I overcome that and tell my own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I have to- What do you mean do I have to? What else am I supposed to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there are already stories. You don’t have to create anything from nothing,” he said patiently. “The audience is going to see what you show them, and the best way to a gold medal - or a mirrorball trophy, is to show them the dancing you like best. And you can only do that when you really feel the music. So find something that speaks to you, not them. The rest will work itself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded so simple that Yuuri felt like laughing, and had a hard time keeping the smile away that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Of course something like that was easy. Find something you like, create a program for it, win. With a sigh, Yuuri tucked his chin into the neck of his sweatshirt and pulled out his phone to start scrolling for music again while Viktor pretended not to feed leftovers to Makkachin (he wasn’t that sneaky, especially not when cooing at the dog about how much he deserved good things [which Yuuri agreed with] and how sweet he was [which was just a statement of universal fact]). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat there in relative silence for a while, the quiet only punctuated by Yuuri’s occasional huff of frustration. He could feel Viktor watching him, and fought the urge to roll his eyes or snap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor interrupted Yuuri as he scrolled through the fifth Broadway-related playlist that he had found. “Yuuri… would you like some help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slumping back in his chair, Yuuri sighed. “Yes- I mean no. Maybe. I don’t know… I feel like I should do this on my own, and it’s a sign of weakness if I get someone to do this for me. Besides, someone else has always picked my music when I was skating, and look where that got me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A spot in the Grand Prix finals?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yurri shot him </span>
  <em>
    <span>a look</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Last place at the GPF, a bombed Nationals, and international disgrace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a sore topic between them - Viktor always insisted that Yuuri was doing much better than he thought, while Yuuri insisted that he was just being realistic about his career or lack thereof after this last competitive season. He had never mentioned Viktor taking an apparent break to do other projects like Dancing With The Stars, and he didn’t mention his possible retirement either. Everything was so nice the way it was - why ruin a good thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The universe, apparently, had no issues with ruining things, and Yuuri should never have forgotten that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plucking his phone from his hands, Viktor scrolled through the music app, occasionally typing and tapping on the screen, before handing it back to Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There - that’s the best Broadway playlist I know. It’s certainly more modern than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello, Dolly </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Singing In The Rain</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That should help you when we get back,” Viktor said decisively, as if a playlist solved all of Yuuri’s problems. “Now, speaking of going back… I think that perhaps we should come up with some sort of phrase that means we want to see each other, yes? That way whoever is around or might see our phones won’t know what’s going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was, the universe attempting to ruin the good feeling that Yuuri had built up over the last several days, and effectively shattering it into a million pieces. Without warning, Yuuri’s thoughts started running faster than he could keep up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why why why why oh god what if he doesn’t want to be seen with me but we were out and people saw us the other day and he held my hand but what if he has someone back in LA or what if he’s afraid of someone in Russia finding out what if there’s paparazzi photos or what if he’s just embarrassed this is a disaster sleeping with your rival that’s just not going to end well oh god what if the show finds out and they fire me what if phichit finds out he can’t keep something like that a secret it’s going to ruin everything i’m going to ruin everything why no no nonononononono why why why-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If the show finds out, it’s going to ruin everything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s the thought that stands out among the rest as his thoughts slow down to a more reasonable pace. Of course. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s it - they have their public images to consider. Viktor Nikiforov, Living Legend, five time gold medalist and </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>, having to face off against former Japanese Ace who failed at every conceivable level in an American reality show and is supposed to be his rival? That’s hard enough to believe as it is. Believing that he also has enough interest to sleep with said failed Ace? The media would have a field day. Viktor’s reputation would be ruined. If Yuuri had a reputation it might be ruined as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he mumbles, only a few moments after Viktor stopped speaking. It’s always amazing how quickly his thoughts can race and his anxiety-ridden brain can process information. “Maybe… well, we went to the rink together anyway. Maybe ask about skating last year’s programs?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s lame, it’s so lame, it’s awful. There’s no way that Viktor will ever agree to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Viktor does agree to it, with a smile that’s so heartbreakingly kind and wonderful that Yuuri doesn’t know what to do with himself other than agree and hope that the madness keeps going for just a little while longer. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>viktor: i like our bubble and want to protect yuuri's privacy because he is not used to the limelight and deserves better<br/>yuuri: wow viktor wants to sleep with me but doesn't want anyone to know i am a human disaster let me diieeeee</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>looks at last update date. cries about it. </p><p>honestly you have quagmiremarch to thank for this, so go read her stuff after you read this chapter. i wouldn't have picked this up and finished this chapter today without her. </p><p>coming up next: you get to find out yuuri and viktor's music choices for their broadway inspired programs, and see the aftermath of our "you always surprise me" favorite couple</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: [imagesent]<br/></span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: anyone willing to trade me roommates?<br/></span>
  <span>kristi.yama: hey! look who’s alive! i thought you forgot we existed ;)<br/></span>
  <span>1fab5: …..so….much….red….glitter…. HOW<br/></span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: he sent me glitter in the mail and i guess it exploded<br/></span>
  <span>shawnjohnson: look i know we’re supposed to like glitter and all that<br/></span>
  <span>1fab5: speak for yourself girl<br/></span>
  <span>shawnjohnson: but that is TOO MUCH<br/></span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: yep. so, new roommate anyone?</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: [image sent]</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: wtf phichit</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>phichit+chu: OMG I AM SO SORRY I LOVE YOU DON’T LEAVE ME DON’T LEAVE OUR CHILDREN PLEASE YUURI </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: i hope TSA catches you carrying hamsters</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>phichit+chu: r00d</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: sending glittery stuff in the mail is rude</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>phichit+chu: but how else will you remember my fabulous existence while i’m away?<br/></span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: WITH THE WEIRD PILLOW YOU MADE ME, YOU WEIRD PERSON<br/></span>
  <span>katsukiyuuri: please never send glitter again. ever. I love you but i will glitter bomb you in your sleep.<br/></span>
  <span>phichit+chu: fair. love you too, bro. see you in a few days!</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just because memos were sent out from the production department via email didn’t mean that everything was done digitally. Someone in that office clearly had a flair for the old-school dramatics (which, normally, Viktor might appreciate) and Tuesday morning found Viktor staring at a bulletin board just past the entrance to the dance studio, staring at an actual, on paper list of casting assignments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening Number Assignments</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>“Cell Block Tango”</b>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Choreography by Mandy Moore and Kenny Ortega</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><ol>
<li><span> Solo - Liz</span></li>
<li><span> Johnson - Annie</span></li>
<li><span> Yamaguchi - Ruth</span></li>
<li><span> Katsuki - Al Lipschitz</span></li>
<li><span> Hinchcliffe - Ezekiel</span></li>
<li><span> VanZant - Katalin</span></li>
<li><span> Nikiforov - Rodolfo</span></li>
<li><span> Lochte - Wilbur</span></li>
<li><span> Biles - Veronica</span></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chicago wasn’t really his jam, but he blamed it on his career - it was just one of those musicals that was hard to skate to, in his opinion. Like any good figure skater, he had watched and marveled over routines that used classic musical numbers and had seen a few pairs and singles use music from Chicago for their programs (those weren’t his favorite though. There had been one to a Moulin Rouge medley one year that made him cry and another breathtaking one to Phantom of the Opera). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t really music that lent itself to skating programs, but with this being a world of dance, he supposed it was easier to fit things together without worrying about required jumps, step sequences, spins, and point values. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of this, though, was born of Viktor forcing himself to focus on things that really didn’t matter. He didn’t care about the assignments or the music choice. The music was a distraction from the fact that Yuuri hadn’t texted him since they had stopped for lunch partway back to Los Angeles, his social media had been dead (well, as dead as it was when Phichit wasn’t around to post things and there weren’t pretty beach sunsets to show off) and this was the longest he’d had to go without being around Yuuri in days. It was a shock to his system, in a way that Sochi couldn’t match. Before, he’d only had a few short hours of a drunken Yuuri Katsuki to flip his world on its head - this time, he’d had multiple days with a sober Yuuri and the man had worked his way further into Viktor’s heart than he could have imagined. The shock left him standing in the doorway of the studio thinking about, so he did what he always did - picked himself up, dusted himself off, put on the distant-but-charming smile he wore out in public, and went to get ready for group rehearsal. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Buzzfeed Celebrity · Updated on November 17. Posted on Nov 13</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>We Asked A Broadway Performer What Songs They Think DWTS Will Use For “Broadway Week”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it even a musical week without </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hamilton?</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>by Natasha Jokic</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BuzzFeed Staff</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We asked Broadway performer Betsey Wolfe what her predictions were for Dancing With The Stars’ Broadway Week music. Of course, the show doesn’t actually pick the music - the professionals and their celebrity partners do, but there are some choices that are more popular than others! Here’s her rankings of most likely songs:</span>
</p><p> </p><ol>
<li><span>Hamilton! Pretty sure we’ll see one of the girls do something from that show. “Quiet Uptown” would kill me, but it would be SO great.</span></li>
<li><span>Hairspray - group number anyone?</span></li>
<li><span>Dear Evan Hansen - personally, I would love to see our little wallflower Yuuri dance to something from this one. Yuuri, if you can hear me, please consider it!</span></li>
<li><span>Someone please do a chimney sweet dance to Mary Poppins. I beg of you.</span></li>
<li><span>If Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t dance to something from Hedwig and the Angry Inch or Kinky Boots I will eat my tickets to see Hamilton (editor note: do you even know how much those go for these days? This is a Serious Thing To Be Discusse)</span></li>
<li><span>Legally Blonde. Please let me see someone in hot pink and kicking ass in a courtroom at the start of a number. </span></li>
<li><span>My out of the blue pick is Hadestown! It’s definitely an off the wall show, and I think we have such a great group of competitors to watch this year that someone could definitely pull it off!</span></li>
</ol><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two hours after the designated start time, Viktor was leaning against the </span>
  <em>
    <span>barre, </span>
  </em>
  <span>chest heaving while he caught his breath. Mandy and Kenny, their choreographers for this number, weren’t exactly workaholics in the same way that Yakov was, but they certainly put the group through their paces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t even that complicated of a number. Cell Block Tango - yes, he got the concept. Men are terrible, they deserve to die, women look hot while singing about it. That was fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> fair was everything about Yuuri Katsuki and his existence in general, and his dancing in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all of his blushes and shy smiles and refusing to meet people’s eyes, Yuuri was a force on the dance floor. Viktor knew this, of course, but it was something entirely different to actually practice with the man in the same room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katsuki,” Mandy had called out, looking among the faces. Yuuri, shy wonder that he was, had raised his hand and asked to be called Yuuri so quietly that he was sure not even Julianne, who was standing right next to him, had heard it at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course that hadn’t stopped Mandy, who had pulled him to the front of the room, and grabbed him and Julianne, as well as three other women and one of the men from the troupe. She then proceeded to manhandle Yuuri into all sorts of… positions, while everyone else draped all over him.  Viktor felt his stomach sour just a little bit and wondered if he’d had too much coffee that morning. It was just a dance, yes? Of course it was. And Yuuri didn’t know these people, and he clearly looked uncomfortable. It didn’t matter that he had spent multiple days in a hideaway sleeping with (and next to) Viktor. Well, it did, but it didn’t because they hadn’t talked about it and Yuuri had looked at him a little oddly when he had mentioned how excited he was to get back to normal and into his routine from the start of the show so Viktor hadn’t wanted to bring it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had had casual flings before. He had slept with skaters. This was fine. He was fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faintly sour feeling faded, though, as Viktor was pulled into his own practice with Paige, who was playing Katalyn to his Rodolfo - a role which Viktor tried not to think of as typecasting or even being slightly racist, though he did agree with Kenny when he said that the white light would make him glow on stage and how it was so much more flattering for him than red, and wasn’t he trained by Lilia Baranovskya? Of course there was no one better for the role. Taking Paige through lifts and turns, gently correcting her form or how much (really, how little) her feet were pointed was enough to distract him, and soon enough Kenny had called for a break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor tried to catch Yuuri’s eye, hoping to eat lunch with him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask about last year’s programs</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the Japanese man stubbornly stayed in the studio, not meeting his eye and asking Mandy for another runthrough of the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor waited quietly just outside the door, and listened as the music was queued up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>...coming all along!</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>(They took a flower in its prime)</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I didn't do it, but if I'd done it</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>(And then they used it, and they abused it)</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>How could you tell me that I was wrong?</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>(It was a murder but not a crime)</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I loved Al Lipschitz</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>More than I can possibly say</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>He was a real artistic guy, sensitive, a painter. But he was troubled, he was always trying to “find himself”. He'd go out every night looking for himself, and along the way, he found…Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary and Irving.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>And I saw him dead!</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julianne was captivating, of course. She danced with and around Yuuri, the steps of their tango so achingly familiar that Viktor was sure he almost saw a suit and hideous blue tie hanging on Yuuri’s frame instead of his t-shirt and track pants. On a pause, where Viktor knew how truly intoxicating it was to watch Yuuri watching you before he spun you and pulled you close into his side (close enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though he was definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>thinking about that), he instead sent Julianne spinning away towards the other women as the troupe dancers stepped up. One by one, “Ruth”, “Gladys”,  “Rosemary”, and “Irving” draped themselves over Yuuri, hands sliding over his arms, his torso, his hips, even cupping his cheek. But, where Yuuri looked stiff and mortified in practice before, here he looked as though this was simply his due in life, to have beautiful people throwing themselves at him, and the confidence was stunning. He pulled one woman against him before reaching out for another and guiding her closer with a gentle hand on the back of her neck before hooking a leg around “irving”’s ankle and pulling him against Yuuri’s back, the man’s hands sliding down his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck was Viktor witnessing and what had happened to Yuuri? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was bewildered, stunned, completely unsure of everything now. Why was Yuuri so shy around him, so nervous and flighty and tense, when he could also </span>
  <em>
    <span>do this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was the banquet all over again, but instead of being the focus of that attention, Viktor was watching with a death grip on a door handle and bile rising in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually though, the music stopped, and it was like a rubber band snapping. Yuuri was so quick to turn from sensual seducer to frightened mouse, mumbling about how it was a good run but he knew he could improve, and how sorry he was that he wasn’t better, all while Julianne looked at him with fond exasperation and told him to shut his pretty face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why couldn’t Viktor look at him like that? Or shut his incredibly pretty face by kissing him? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Because he was Viktor Nikiforov, Living Legend, and had a role of his own to keep up with. He had a “rivalry” to play out and a trophy to win, and a potential retirement to consider. And if Yuuri wanted to not text him, and to dance like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then fine. He could go ahead and do that, and Viktor would just… be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was fine. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>viktor definitely got drunk and sat in the bathtub, on the phone with chris crying about how beautiful yuuri was when he was dancing. </p><p>chris is a good friend. chris does not deserve this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Four days earlier. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Defying Gravity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne looked at him like he had grown a second head. “Yuuri, are you sure? I heard someone else was considering Wicked as their program music as well, and you really can’t afford to take any risks like that right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting across from her on the floor of the studio, Yuuri shook his head. “That’s not true. Because of how far I’ve gotten, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to start taking risks. And it’s the only song that works. Nothing else stands out, and I’m only following your advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What advice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sighed. “You said, and I quote, ‘fuck them’, about the producers and their cooked up rivalry. So, Defying Gravity. It’s my middle finger to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t all it was though. It was his heart soaring as he listened to the music. It was him asking Viktor to fly with him, to leave this toxic wasteland and everything that came with it, and it was him telling himself that if Viktor said no, if he stayed like Glinda did, then he would be okay. He would fly off and stand on his own, and nothing and nobody could stop him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that was okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He could still have everything he had wanted - skating on the same ice as Viktor, standing on the podium - if he wanted to, if he wanted to work through the pain and the anxiety and if he wanted to give up even more of himself and his life than he had. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to, but he knew that he could do it. But, he was done playing by the rules that were in front of him right now, done letting producers tell him what to do, and if he was going to go out after this week, if they couldn’t deal with him, then he was going to do it in a blaze of green glory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nice, he reflected, to know what he wanted. It was rare, but Yuuri was immovable when he could make a decision. Start ice skating. Learn Viktor’s programs. Get Vicchan. Move to the United States. Work himself to the bone to get into the Grand Prix. And now… tell the world they couldn’t jerk him around anymore, and that he was going to be okay if everyone (if Viktor) couldn’t deal with that and left him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne sighed. It was only fair in Yuuri’s mind - she had asked him to pick the music, and now she got to deal with the monster she created. But then she grinned and held a hand out to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, we’re doing this. I hope your stamina can handle it though, Katsuki, because I’m going to give you a jazz dance that would kill lesser men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned. “Good. Let’s get to work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was practically vibrating out of his skin. Nothing could have gone better with their performance - with </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>performance. He felt as though he had been flying. Viktor had been right to tell him that finding a story that spoke to him was the key. Yuuri knew that he had performed in a way that he hadn’t in… years, probably. He hadn’t had to create something from nothing, only dance in a way that made him happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lyrics had been what had caught him, though the soaring notes and pounding base and drums had been a close second. It had taken everything he had not to (badly) sing along as he danced. The leaps and lifts had felt effortless, spins without an easy place to spot felt like nothing, not dizzying at all. As Yuuri stood in the dressing room he had snuck into backstage, he leaned against the far wall and relieved the dance again as his heart pounded. Out there on the stage, he said everything he had wanted. How he wanted to love Viktor even though he knew it was a lost cause, how he wanted to prove to everyone that he was just as worthy of being on this stage, how they had made the mistake of underestimating him, and how he knew he couldn’t make that mistake after this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel the final sequences of the dance, the sweeping arm movements, the final  twelve - or was it fifteen? - fouettes and the interspersed pirouettes, ending with a quadruple turn, gravity and force pulling as it tried to pull him from a perfect coupe that would make Minako proud, into a step out into a chaines turn and a final leap - a move where he might have previously rolled out of the leap onto the dance floor, the easier option, but stood tall with his arms above his head, reaching towards the heavens, towards the skies that he wanted to take to and fly away into, towards his own happiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri knew he was expected to be on camera, expected to be out there with the other contestants, but for once he was feeling selfish. He wanted a few more minutes of peace, a few more moments to himself before he had to go back to everything and everyone that would make him feel small and alone and anxious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peace that was interrupted by the click of a door handle, and the gentle creak of it swinging open and closed before the latch clicked closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed. “My god, Yuuri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning against the now closed door, Viktor looked like he was the one that had just performed the most stressful four-something minutes of his life rather than Yuuri. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide. He looked at Yuuri in a way that made him afraid to interpret in case he was wrong and it wasn’t with… something that Yuuri couldn’t name but might, in his wildest dreams, call love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing in here, Viktor?” he asked tremulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t text me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t text him? </span>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t text him? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri had just spent the last however many days trying to do something, this one thing, for himself and Viktor was upset that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuuri didn’t text him? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious?” Yuuri was incredulous. “You’re here, barging into a dressing room, two songs away from going out there and absolutely stunning the audience like you always do, and you’re upset that I didn’t text you? What the hell, Viktor? Do you know what I was doing this week? Trying to act like I had any idea what I was doing! Rehearsing for a group number where I had to- had to- do all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then work with Julianne to give the performance of my goddamn life, and you’re upset that I didn’t text you? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer Yuuri talked, the more shocked Viktor looked. From shocked to ashamed to afraid and then to thoroughly embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri slumped against the wall, the bluster and anger knocked out of him leaving only… sadness. Disappointment. Didn’t Viktor see what he had just done? Didn’t he know Yuuri at all - know how hard this was? It left a cold feeling in his stomach to look back on their time together most recently and wonder if it had any depth at all. Any meaning. Was Viktor really there at all? Had he been </span>
  <em>
    <span>present</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Or was Yuuri nothing more than a warm body for him to latch on to at night and cling to like some…. Emotionally absent octopus? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you came back here because you missed me. Because this is apparently all about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Do you even care that I just went out there and did what would have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>impossible</span>
  </em>
  <span> five years ago? Three? Even a year ago? God, Viktor, really? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You know what, I’m needed out there in the lounge with everyone else. And you need to get ready so why don’t you just go and dance like the producers expect you to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And next time you miss someone, you’re allowed to text them first.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri’s words rang in his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Next time, you’re allowed to text them first. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why was it that something that simple stung? While that swimming annoyance Ryan danced, Viktor sat in the far corner of the performer’s lounge, as far away from Yuuri as possible and thought. He itched to grab his phone and scroll through for evidence, but couldn’t with cameras everywhere. Did he really always wait for people to text him? Why? He rarely reached out to anyone other than Chris, and maybe Yuuri, but that had been weeks ago and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was only because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>something from the other man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he selfish? Maybe. Yakov had certainly called him that plenty of times over the years, as well as Lilia and most recently Yura. Certainly he had wanted to tell Yuuri how beautifully he had danced, how forceful he had been, and any other words he could come up with to describe his dancing, but mostly his first thought had been that he wanted to kiss Yuuri. And then to say that Yuuri hadn’t text him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, he was probably selfish. And didn’t think. He should have done better than that - Yuuri deserved better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Applause broke through his musings, and Peta pulled him to his feet so they could head toward the stage. He could hear Tom and Erin announce them from his space on the side of the stage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our next couple is bringing you another modern Broadway hit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right Tom. One of my favorite things about Broadway Week is that the competitors get to choose their music with very little direction and then a dance style is chosen for them based on that song. This means that there’s a lot of variety, but like tonight, it also means that we can see more than one song from the same musical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From what could be regarded as the greatest power song of the show to the romantic high point, our next couple will be dancing to ‘As Long As You’re Mine’ from Wicked, with special guests Aaron Tveit and Kerry Ellis performing live!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri had danced for himself, that was clear to Viktor. And that was fair - Yuuri had earned that more than anyone else he knew, and should never have felt like he needed to earn it at all. Right now, Viktor wanted nothing more than to show Yuuri how unselfish he could be, how sorry he was. He had always skated for himself, done things his way no matter how much it irritated Yakov or Lilia, and he knew the gratification that came with doing something for yourself and having it go right. He didn’t want that this time, though - he wanted to dance </span>
  <em>
    <span>for someone else</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For Yuuri. It was a new feeling, even now, even after weeks of seeing and thinking about Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one would be just for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he chose his music, it had been a simple thing. He wanted more of what he and Yuuri had in Summerland - uncomplicated, easy, where problems could be fixed with a few pretty words and soft touches. But that wasn’t really everything there was to being with someone, was there? It was the hard moments, too. Arguments. Selfishness. Forgiveness. Stubbornness and giving way. It wasn’t always nice and pretty and soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, that was what all the songs and books and movies said. It was what his song said - as long as you want me, I’ll be yours. As long as you’re mine, I’ll do anything to keep this time going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was Yuuri his? He wanted him to be. First he would dance, and then he would text Yuuri. He wouldn’t wait for the other man to reach out to him first. He would try and meet him where he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking Peta’s hand more firmly in his, he walked out under the bright lights, ready to dazzle the one person he wanted to, more than anyone else in the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dancing a mambo, welcome to the floor Viktor Nikiforov and his partner Peta Murgatroyd!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fun fact, i usually choreograph (at least partially) any danced that aren't ballroom related in my head. whenever you see yuuri practicing ballet, or "free styling" like in previous chapters to john mayer or other songs, i work through the dance moves myself when i can. so, for defying gravity, i went through most of the song and it was actually sixteen fouettes, a double turn with leg extended in second somewhere near the middle of those, and then a quadruple pirouette at the end, before the chaines turns into a leap that, yes, would be easier to roll out of and end on the floor. but this is yuuri, so of course nothing is easy right?</p><p>also, fun fact that some of my yoi 18+ discord people were privy to before this - yuuri's absolute favorite version of wicked is the one that he saw with phichit in chicago once, which *coincidentally* was the one that had aaron in it. (pretty sure aaron stayed with the new york show, but it's my world and you're all reading it)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me: adds a short chapter bc pov problems<br/>me: this was totally intentional</p><p>really tho if you haven't been clicking links so far with this fic you need to on this one. well, you don't NEED to, but you should.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>ABC News | Entertainment </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>DANCING WITH THE STARS TEAMS WEEK STARTS AMID TALENT CONTROVERSY </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Monday night’s episode of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dancing With The Stars</span>
  </em>
  <span> saw a new high for the show’s apparent rivals, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki. In an apparently unplanned move, both competitors picked songs from popular musical </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wicked: The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and received high praise from the judges as well as perfect scores. Unfortunately, the show ended with another elimination (we know, it always does! It’s just sad to see the show winding down) when James Hinchcliffe and his partner Sharna Burgess, who landed in the bottom two with Ryan Lochte and his partner, was cut from the roster. The show ended with the announcement that next week, themed “Around the World”, would also be Team Week, where competitors and their dance partners will team up. Teams would be revealed throughout the week through social media, a step back from how teams had been previously announced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, that wasn’t the only bomb dropped about the show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Monday night’s episode, an anonymous letter was sent to several media outlets, alleging that “unfair advantages” were becoming more evident regarding competitors that came from a more “artistic” field, and that the judges were unfairly awarding points to those competitors rather than considering all of them fairly. Below is an excerpt: </span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Despite impressive performances from all of the competitors in the most recent shows, it has become clearer and clearer that the judges have a preference for those from “artistic fields”, as gymnasts and figure skaters now make up more than half of the field. And although the teams have not been publicly released, the pairs have clearly been created in favor of those “artistically inclined” as at least two pairs consist of of people from the same or similar sports. It’s clear that ABC isn’t interested in playing fair or presenting anything close to the sportsmanship that some competitive fields focus on, instead living up to the reputation of trite reality television nonsense, focused on creating an environment so toxic that some people are beginning to question whether or not there really is merit left in continuing programs such as this. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>If the writer is correct, will we see at least one routine full of gymnastic elements? Or, perhaps those with a background in dance (because we all know that figure skaters work closely with the dance field - have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>their studio pictures?) will dazzle us with something outside of what we’ve seen before. And in the meantime, we’ll be reviewing the list of most likely suspects. Time to get our detective on!</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I really want to see you. Please. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri had gotten the message late on Monday night when he was back in his hotel room, collapsed onto the bed after a shower. Phichit was due back soon, and as much as he wanted to stay awake to greet his friend, he didn’t think it would happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer until Tuesday morning as he walked into the dance studio, earbuds playing the same </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSrrRaVyQHQ">
    <span>song</span>
  </a>
  <span> he had been toying with on the ice at a volume that - if Phichit had been around - he would have been told was concerning. He sent a message that agreed to meet at the ice rink after the public skating hours were done for the day just as he opened the door to his practice room with Julianne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, of course, because he was apparently living in a soap opera… There stood Viktor and Peta, the former looking sheepish and the latter looking supremely pleased with herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julianne smiled at him, but it looked tight and tense and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey, Yuuri. I was wondering when you would get here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, he pulled the earbuds out and wound the cord before shoving them in his pocket, already anticipating a tangled mess later. “Am I late? I thought we were going to meet at 9 today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were,” she sighed, “But then they sprung pairs on us this morning before I got a chance to sit down with you and explain how Team Week is going to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no group number this week for you guys - the pros are dancing to open the show. And then since there’s so much more to talk about and show on the intro package with people </span>
  <em>
    <span>working together</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” and Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the emphasis on those words, “there’s going to be some time in and out of the studio with the cameras once we settle on some music. But that means that Peta and I have to go to rehearsals until about noon. So that means you and Viktor have the next few hours to do your gym training, talk about music, and get whatever else done that you need to before we can meet up after lunch to start planning. This week is going to be a lot more complicated, with a longer dance to plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And with people watching you closely, waiting for you to slip, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his anxious thoughts so helpfully provided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said stiffly. “Um, cool. Great. I’m going to go for a run then. See you guys later!” and backtracked out of the room before he could even look at Viktor again, heading for the treadmills in the gym of his hotel. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His feet were pounding and lungs were burning by the time Yuuri felt as though he had outrun his anxiety, at least for the moment. For the last three and a half miles, he had run as though he could outrace his thoughts, leave behind the worries and anxiety and constant feeling as though this was being done to him on purpose, and that people were just waiting for him to fail. As though he was being made fun of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stabbing his index finger at the red stopping button, Yuuri stumbled to a halt without bothering with a cooldown - something he knew he would regret later but right now he couldn’t run for another second. For the last thirty-something minutes his brain had mind had been mercifully quiet, and he thought that everything was better but now that he was sitting down his thoughts pounded along with his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sel-fish. Sel-fish. You wan-ted him to re-spect you. You wan-ted him to-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the separation in the syllables as the words ran through his head to the pounding beat of his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And really, he did feel selfish. Yuuri had spent every moment since he had come back to Los Angeles working on his routines, running himself ragged, doing anything he could to stay busy and not have to sit still and be alone with his thoughts. Viktor wasn’t psychic, he didn’t know what was wrong with Yuuri, didn’t know why it was so important for Yuuri to do well. And he wouldn’t unless Yuuri told him, which he hadn’t, and then had snapped at him when the man voiced a perfectly valid concern (a concern that, Yuuri knew, if he held would have driven him to having anxiety-driven freakouts in the tub while water pounded on his head from the shower faucet). He could feel the sour, sick, winding grip of guilt twisting through his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words began to outpace the pounding of blood through the veins in his temples though, as he began to berate himself with what he should have done better, what he should be doing instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a weak snarl, he pulled his headphones out of his ears, accidentally tearing them out of the headphone jack. Frustrated with the tangled cord, he balled them up and threw them as hard as he could - which, considering they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>headphones </span>
  </em>
  <span>and not really aerodynamic, wasn’t far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those headphones really ought to apologize,” came a voice from above and to his left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Victor was standing there, leaning back against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his track pants. He looked… collected. Put together. The opposite of how Yuuri felt every moment of the day, but especially right now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The headphones aren’t the only ones,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought bitterly, looking at the sad tangle of cord on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he opened his mouth to apologize, though, what came out instead was “Come skate with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His surprise must have been evident, because Viktor’s brows pulled together. “Skate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no!” Viktor’s voice seemed to get away from him. “That’s not it. I just want you to be sure that you want… me… there…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked at him (he felt, at least) stupidly. “Of course I want you there. Why wouldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t text me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>With a swoop of shame, Yuuri remembered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rink was quiet on weekdays, especially since it was midmorning and they didn’t usually see a lot of skaters until after school hours. Yuuri laced his skates without thinking, tugging on the laces in all of the spots he needed to, tying them security without glancing down at them. Viktor hadn’t put his skates on just yet, and was leaning back against the boards while watching Yuuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he stood up, he handed his glasses, skate guards, and his phone with the music app already open to Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to watch something first,” he said quietly, eyes focused on the blurry image of his phone in Viktor’s hand. “If anyone will understand, you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coming to a stop in the middle of the rink, Yuuri nodded once, sharply, and Viktor pressed </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcUbftTGxTs">
    <span>play</span>
  </a>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Viktor had seen a lot of Yuuri’s performances. The day after the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stammi Vicino </span>
  </em>
  <span>video aired as part of Yuuri’s video introduction, Viktor fell down a YouTube rabbit hole, looking for every video - translated or not - that he could find. The Detroit Skate Club YouTube channel had some videos, mostly of Yuuri skating in the background, and there were shaky fancam videos of him at competition, the shouting and screaming so loud that Viktor often couldn’t hear the music. News clips, interviews, practice videos on Phichit’s Instagram, competition videos going back so far that the video quality only showed a blurry figure moving across a blue-ish white space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After two days, and multiple arguments with Yuri Plisetsky over Skype - many of those interrupted by Yakov, who had some silly notion that Yuri should have been practicing rather than arguing (though he liked to think of it as bonding) with Viktor, Viktor considered himself an expert on Yuuri Katsuki’s skating - well, as much as one could be without actually training with the man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never been so happy to have been proven wrong in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A story unfolded on the ice in front of him - rough, to be sure, sometimes choppy and unsure, but instead of detracting it only added to the charm and the emotion that seemed to be rolling off of Yuuri in waves. </span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>...Tired of feeling never enough...</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>In every extension of his arms, the tilt of his head while keeping his eyes on the ice, Viktor could read the insecurity and frailty of Yuuri’s courage. The fact that no matter what he did, it felt like there was still more to do - another mountain to climb, another summit to reach, another goal to meet or die trying. He could only see the road in front of him, but not where he had been. Everything that was behind him was in darkness. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough, and he carried that weight on his shoulders, always trying to prove that he deserved to be where he was and that it should </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>There'll be no more darkness… When you believe in yourself you are unstoppable…</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>If he could just keep going, if he could find the words that would make things right, Yuuri could truly be unstoppable. But at the same time, he was his own worst enemy. He was his own worst critic. He was what was holding him back, and he knew that it was happening, but he couldn’t fight that battle. It wasn’t something he was ready for yet, and Viktor felt his heart clench in response. </span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>We'll make it happen, we'll turn it around… yes, we were born to make history…</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Yuuri could easily make history as the skater to dethrone Viktor Nikiforov if he could get out of his own head long enough. Even though there wasn’t a jump more complex than a triple axel in what he had just skated, there was more artistry than Viktor had seen in some skater’s whole careers. And that was in one single, shaky, incomplete, half-way marked out program. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The music cut before looping again, and Viktor blindly scrambled to pause it. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Yuuri, whose chest was heaving with the effort as he skated laps to cool down, slowing with each circle around the ice. It was as though a switch had been flipped, and when the music had started Yuuri had been body-snatched by a confident alien from planet Amazing Talent. When the music was off again, he could see the slight hunch to Yuuri’s shoulders, as if the man could curl up on himself and disappear even as he skated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still looked as though he wanted to disappear when he skated up to Viktor, eyes focused on the boards where he rest his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed. “How have you not won every single competition you’ve ever been at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was the wrong thing to say. He had a feeling he knew why Yuuri struggled - something had happened to make him believe that he didn’t really have the skills. Someone must have told him something awful. That was the only thing Viktor could think of. Biting his lip, he tried to recover, but Yuuri beat him to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I just lack the confidence,” the other man said quietly, picking up his glasses and sliding them into place. “I… I have anxiety. And not like how teenagers on Instagram like to say they do. Like-” Yuuri looked as though he was in pain, and Viktor wanted to stop him. He didn’t need to say anything, or justify anything. If it was this painful, he didn’t need to do anything he didn’t want to. “Like, puking before my programs, not sleeping during competitions, not able to breathe unless I’m skating but even then panicking over every single thing I do wrong, and those mistakes pile up until I choke. It’s why-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That… wasn’t what Viktor expected. How could he tell Yuuri not to let someone get him down when he was the one doing that to himself? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor found that he couldn’t meet his eyes when he asked, “It’s why what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s why I’ve never been good enough to be on your level. Never been good enough to be your competitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “Yuuri, Yuuri… Don’t you remember what I told you? You’re one of the top six skaters in the whole world. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>world. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And you just skated one of the most heartfelt, beautiful things I’ve ever seen. You skated your </span>
  <em>
    <span>soul</span>
  </em>
  <span> for everyone to see, even if it was just me. That takes more confidence than I think I could ever have. Of course you’re good enough to be my competitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Yuuri looked as if he wanted to say something else, and was fighting to keep the words inside. Had he said the wrong thing again? It would be just like Viktor to ruin Yuuri talking to him when he had just gotten that back… He needed to say something else, to fix it. Anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should dance to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that certainly under the broad category of </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Viktor felt as surprised as Yuuri looked, the words hanging in the air, seemingly buoyed by the tension between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we should also skate to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, definitely considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor tried to recover. “I want to skate with you, Yuuri. I want to learn how you do… everything that you do. How you show so much of yourself when you’re out there. I want to learn that routine and I want to skate it with you, and then I want us to dance that this week and I want the whole world to see your soul, like I did just now. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He added his best pleading puppy dog eyes, just to be sure. Makkachin would be proud of him, but only if it worked. He looked at Yuuri, begging to get his way like Makka would beg for a bite (or five) of his breakfast on his cheat days, only this was more important than some bacon. This was the opportunity to see that beauty on the ice, but up close. And to spend more time with the man who had wormed his way into Viktor’s thoughts and heart, when he thought he wouldn’t get that again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curiously, Yuuri turned pink, and then red, and then an alarming shade that looked closer to pomegranate than tomato before saying, “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That one word lifted his spirits more than anything he could remember. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>If someone had told Viktor that he would enjoy spending hours on ice without using the time to choreograph his own routines, he would have laughed in their faces. But that was exactly how the rest of their morning and early afternoon was spent, skating the bits and pieces that Yuuri had choreographed, improvising around it when there was nothing solid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor learned more than he thought possible in the span of one practice session. He thought he knew everything he needed to - how to build himself up from nothing, create a new image every year, forget the past and let it die while rising like a phoenix from the ashes. He knew every single technical element that was physically possible in skating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of that compared to learning that when he needed to think, Yuuri skated figures. Or that he had the stamina to practice the same jump fifteen times with hardly more than a water break. That he looked like he flew across the ice because Minako, his ballet teacher, had drilled it into him in his early days of skating that like everything worth it in life, there was pain in beauty and skating was nothing if not beautiful. He learned that Yuuri always choreographed his own step sequences even if his coach didn’t let him do the rest, and that his Ina Bauer was something to envy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He learned that the past wasn’t something to be thrown away and forgotten, as he watched Yuuri pull pieces of choreography seemingly out of thin air, and when Viktor asked or mused that it looked familiar, he would name the program it came from (his own or Viktor’s, sometimes Phichit or Stephane Lambiel), the year it was done, the name of the song, the competition he had seen it in first, and sometimes even what the costume had looked like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of those steps that he tried to move past became something new, something precious, when Yuuri connected it to something new, or something from the year before, the old pieces shining as they were strung together like beads in a necklace that was rebuilt after it had snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also learned that Yuuri was sometimes forgetful, or selfish, and often got lost in his own head and forgot that not everyone thought the same way he did. It was endearing, and reassuring to know that they were so similar - contrary to Yura’s belief, Viktor did know his own shortcomings, and was frighteningly familiar with them to boot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that was what had happened, when they came back to Los Angeles. Viktor could see how easily Yuuri could throw himself into something, and perhaps he had let things fall by the wayside. It wasn’t as though Viktor was much better - he may have been petty in not wanting to contact Yuuri first, but he was certainly capable of drowning himself in his work at the expense of all else, and did so frequently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting on a bench in the lobby as they packed away their skates, Viktor decided it was time to broach that topic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri, I believe I owe you an apology,” he said haltingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man looked up at him, and his brows drew together - adorably - in confusion. “What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? “After your performance, I should have told you how beautiful you had been. How well you danced. Instead, I was selfish and thought only that it had been days since we had talked, and I suppose I thought it was your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could even finish the sentence, Yuuri was shaking his head and holding his hands out as if to stop Viktor. “No, no, nonononono! I was so stupid, and so selfish, Viktor. Not you. We came back and I- well, I thought that-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway. I should have texted you, you’re right. But then, after I had danced, I just felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then I didn’t and I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have. I just wanted you to see me and see what I was good at, not my shortcomings. And I took my anger out on you when I was confronted with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thought what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wondered. “Yuuri, Yuuri, no. You weren’t stupid. You’re not stupid, zoloste. Perhaps we were both wrong? I could have messaged you when we returned, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>have started with how wonderfully you did. And yes, maybe shouting wasn’t a great response, but we’re all human. Can we forgive each other and ourselves for this and begin again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri, who had quieted down and was twisting the sleeves of his jacket between his fingers, nodded. “Alright. Can we just… pretend we just got back to LA? Forget that this happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor smiled. “Sure, of course we can. Though I don’t think I can forget that beautiful performance. I refuse to act as though I didn’t see you in that lovely green and black costume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was… Yuuri was blushing! Viktor thought it was adorable. The mumble that followed would have been adorable too, he was sure, if he could understand it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri took a deep breath and closed his eyes before saying, “I don’t want to forget your dance either because Fiyero is my favorite character and Aaron Tveit is the best one and then you were dancing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that song</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’m pretty sure it was the best thing I have ever seen and that’s counting all of your skating programs.” The words were rushed and he was clearly out of breath, and embarrassed, by the end of it. Viktor was so pleased he couldn’t help the small laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was for you, you know,” he admitted. “That dance was for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a swooping feeling in his stomach as he said it - the idea that he had danced for Yuuri. He hadn’t even told Peta about it, simply insisting that it was the perfect song and he didn’t care who else was dancing to what. It was something he needed to do. It was freeing to admit it, and it felt as though the floodgates that he kept his feelings behind had burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Yuuri whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor scooted closer to him on the bench until their shoulders were touching and he looked Yuuri in the eye, willing him to understand, hoping that he did even if Viktor didn’t entirely yet. “Yes, you. As long as you want me, I’m yours. And as long as you’ll stay, as long as you’re mine, I want to keep you. Is that alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man nodded, looking stunned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please stay close to me, Yuuri,” he murmured, hardly able to get the words out. Viktor wanted Yuuri to be here, to be his, and it was wild and strange and he didn’t really know why or how or what to say, but he just knew that he needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Stay, zoloste, please. I missed you. I missed watching you dance, eating dinner with you, sitting with you and Makka and watching television. I missed kissing you. If I could take you back to that house so we could have that again, I would. But I want that here too. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never been so terrified as he was waiting for Yuuri’s answer. Viktor wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to being himself or being open about anything. He was a method actor to the core, embodying the characters he played on the ice until he forgot who he was. But this… this wasn’t a character. This was him. These words came out of nowhere, out of the pit of his being, and he didn’t know how or why and didn’t much care to stop them. All he knew was that he had felt alive in that vacation house, more than he had in years, and it took losing and then gaining Yuuri again to show him that how he had been then was how he was meant to live, not as this competing robot that he felt he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yuuri leaned in to kiss him, Viktor moved on instinct, crowding into the other man’s space as their lips met, one arm sliding around his waist and the other cupping his cheek before moving to brush the soft, small hairs at the nape of his neck. It felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just as right as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, of course, of course I will</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Yuuri murmured between kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could deal with reality later - with the expectations and the distance and the show, everything. None of it mattered right now. Not when he had this. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i think this is probably the most emotional chapter that i've written, and certainly the most emotional viktor chapter. our ice prince has finally melted a bit :))))))</p><p>of course... not all is well. yet.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heeeeey it'a ya girl<br/>back a month later with a rating change and a smutty chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They made it two days before Yuuri received an email stating, not asking, that the camera crew would be following them to the rink to film practice. Two days of perfection, of happiness, and of possibly the hardest work he had ever put into skating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was sure that, technically, he had worked hard on a lot of things in his life, but nothing felt more exhausting than preparing for the Team Week program. At the same time, there was little that was more rewarding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each morning after their gym time - that he and Viktor now </span>
  <em>
    <span>shared</span>
  </em>
  <span>, running next to each other on treadmills or spotting each other while lifting weights, how the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>was this his life?? - the pair went to the rink to skate through “History Maker” and other pieces of choreography. Sometimes it was nonsense, or pieces of old programs, or programs that would never see the lights of a real competition rink. After that first day when Yuuri felt self-conscious and too self-aware, even after skating for Viktor that first time, he slowly loosened up. This was the one place he felt that he needed to earn the right to be around Viktor - they had never shared a rink for warm up let alone competition flights, and here they were laughing and chasing each other around the ice, Viktor insisting he could learn to throw Yuuri into a jump like the pairs could while Yuuri shrieked and tried to skate away… but never too quickly. Never so quickly that Viktor couldn’t catch him if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was the real kicker for Yuuri. That Viktor </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted. He wanted so many things in his life - to skate, to get a good education, to move to America, to make it to the Grand Prix, to score enough to get to the final, to meet Viktor, to have Viktor </span>
  <em>
    <span>see him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To have Viktor look at him with the same kind of emotion that welled up in Yuuri’s heart that he just couldn’t name for the life of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And oh god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Viktor didn’t just look once - something Yuuri thought he might have been happy with - but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept</span>
  </em>
  <span> looking. Viktor Nikiforov wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuuri Katsuki</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and apparently didn’t care who might or might not know about it. He wanted Yuuri so much that he would press him up against the boards, or the lockers or the wall of the showers or or or or… the list seemed to go on. It was dizzying, and even thinking about it left Yuuri breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But how important was air, really, when he could think about Viktor and how much they seemed to want each other instead? When he could close his eyes and go back to their mornings at the rink, and the way that Viktor would trap him up against the wall of lockers, lips hot against his neck and cool fingers creeping up under his shirt to skim his sides. How he would press his body against Yuuri’s, leaving no space between them but still straining for more contact like it was never enough. (And right then it wasn’t, not for Yuuri. It wouldn’t be enough until there wasn’t a single layer of fabric between them, but this was not the time or the place.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now a camera crew was going to interrupt that? Yuuri could feel his stomach clench and his jaw tighten every time he thought about it, insides burning at the thought of someone intruding in this little space they had carved out for each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: camcrewemail1</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: andreafinch</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Subject: B-Roll Footage</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Finch,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Attached you will find several screen captures of the video taken of Katsuki and Nikiforov from their out-of-studio training. Following your request that I keep an eye out for anything unusual while shadowing, you can see that Katsuki frequently skates without his glasses, and this has resulted in two things - that he stands closer to Nikiforov while they’re working through choreography, and that while he’s watching Nikiforov he’s squinting. Is this something that you would like us to bring up in the interview stage? Please advice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From: andreafinch</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To: cameracrewemail1</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Subject: Re: B-Roll Footage</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No need to ask that. Run with the footage of them skating together or Katsuki watching Nikiforov. Cut down all other ice skating footage. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri was dripping sweat as he left the ice, fumbling with his skate guards to snap them in place so he could make his way to his belongings. Viktor was still out on the ice, skating in slow circles as he tried to think something through, and the only reason Yuuri had left the ice before him was that he had been skating the program for Viktor repeatedly while the other man watched and made adjustments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushed through the routine, shoving his feet into his unlaced skates before hurrying to the locker room. It was the one place that the camera crew didn’t follow him, the one place where he could finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe </span>
  </em>
  <span>without feeling like a lead weight was sitting on his chest. Exhaling, he let out a shaky breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding - it was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be with Viktor like this - together but not. He wasn’t sure which one of them pulled back first, but it hurt either way. The first day had been hard enough. He hadn’t been sure how to talk to Viktor or act around him, and dreaded the thought of being interviewed. So far he had been saved from that specific mental torture, but his own head more than made up for it when he thought about how Viktor seemed more like he had in interviews that Yuuri had watched. Distant, aloof, like there was plate glass between him and the rest of the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stripping off his workout shirt, he used the driest part of the hem to mop at his face. If this was what they had to do, they would do it right? He didn’t have to like it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The locker room door banged open and then slammed shut just as quickly, startling Yuuri into dropping his shirt. He pawed around on the bench and near his bag blindly for his glasses, but before he could reach them he was pressed up against the lockers, the cold metal against his chest making him hiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I only have a moment.” That accent, god that </span>
  <em>
    <span>accent</span>
  </em>
  <span> - of course it was Viktor. He could be in a coma and hear that voice and know exactly who it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fingers digging into his hips with bruising strength were a dead giveaway too, but Yuuri found that he could only focus on so much like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri squirmed, uncomfortably cold from the metal and hot from Viktor pressed up against him. “What are you doing?” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nosing along the side of his neck - causing Yuuri to melt just a little - Viktor replied, “I missed you, solnyshko. And I only have a moment before I have to go back out there, but I couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer. Come over tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He froze. Viktor wanted him to come over? Why? For what? Reasonably Yuuri’s brain jumped to them hooking up, and while </span>
  <em>
    <span>god yes holyshit yes please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he didn’t… couldn’t quite figure out </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why did Viktor still want him? Why was Viktor all over him when he was so distant out there? The emotional whiplash was almost too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor must have noticed Yuuri’s tension, because he started to ramble. “Only if you want to, of course. And only whatever you want. I’m happy with whatever you’ll give me, you know that. Even if you just want to eat dinner, or watch television - oh, or we could swim. I just need to see you, please. Please say you’ll come, Yuuri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep talking to me and I just might</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought in a haze. But that wasn’t what Viktor meant and he knew it. Yuuri was still adjusting to the idea that Viktor wanted him - that this amazing, put together, successful, handsome man wanted the walking dumpster fire that was Yuuri Katsuki. But, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he breathed. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving Yuuri trembling with the sudden loss of heat and sensation, the ghost of Viktor’s lips on his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really needed a shower. Probably a cold one, too. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuuri couldn’t meet anyone’s eye as he walked through the lobby of the hotel. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong! There were other people from the competition staying in this hotel, and he could be visiting anyone. That didn’t stop the swoop of terror in his stomach at the thought of being discovered. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, though, and kept reminding himself of that as he waited for the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t doing anything wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was allowed to be here. There was nothing wrong. He wasn’t doing anything illegal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...then why did it feel like he needed to turn tail and run before he got caught?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waiting for the elevator was torture. He shoved his earbuds in, a clear sign of </span>
  <em>
    <span>please don’t talk to me please don’t engage</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which mostly worked as more and more people gathered to head up to their rooms for the night. As soon as the elevator car was available, he pressed the button and shoved himself in a corner, willing himself to be invisible in ways that he hadn’t wished for since he had been in Sochi after making a total mess of his professional life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing past the few people who were left in the elevator by the time they arrived at the upper floors, Yuuri set off quickly down the hallway. He wanted to run, to skip, anything to get him to Viktor faster, but he was incredibly aware of the people walking down the hallway behind him, the distance growing with each long stride but still not enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he knocked on the door, a sharp rap that left his knuckles stinging, Yuuri’s chest was heaving slightly as he tried to look as unflustered and in control as possible. He still looked that way when Viktor’s hand shot out to wrap around his wrist and pull him inside, and even still when Viktor pressed him up against the door. Yuuri knew that Viktor knew, because he kissed him like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fluster Yuuri and undermine every single bit of self control he currently possessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It worked. Oh, god, did it work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor was… everywhere. His mouth was on Yuuri’s, sucking on his lip, licking into his mouth, while his hands roamed under the hem of Yuuri’s shirt before one moved to the back of his neck, the cold feeling left on his hip in the wake of removal replaced by the searing sensation of a warm palm against the back of his neck and fingers creeping up into the wispy hairs just above. With a moan, Yuuri went weak at the knees, sagging against the door just slightly - enough to rub against the thigh that Viktor had pressed between Yuuri’s legs, the pressure delicious against his hardening cock. If Viktor’s grip on him was anything to go by, it seemed that he got just as much pleasure out of getting Yuuri to react as Yuuri did to what the other man was doing to him, and he rolled his hips forward, head falling back both at the sensation and the insistent tugging of Viktor’s fingers in his hair, maneuvering him so that there was more exposed and easy to reach skin on his neck to kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vi-” Yuuri swallowed hard. “Viktor. There is a bed literally right there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer he got, instead of being picked up and carried to the bed - which would have been very enjoyable - was Viktor pressing him against the door more firmly, one hand sliding down to slip inside his jeans and palm Yuuri’s ass through his briefs while pressing his own erection against Yuuri’s hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” The words, mumbled against Yuuri’s skin, felt like they were reverberating through him. “But you’re right here, and I think that’s more important, don’t you moya lyubov?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A whimpering noise escaped Yuuri before he could stop it, and he could swear he felt the smile against his neck in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like when I speak to you in Russian?” The question was teasing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor</span>
  </em>
  <span> was teasing - one tall, muscled, gorgeous </span>
  <em>
    <span>tease</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I assure you, it will happen again before the night is over. Ty zastavlyayesh' menya zabyt' o sebe, kotenok. Zabud'te, kak ispol'zovat' slova. Nichego drugogo ne vazhno, krome tebya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yuuri squirmed against Viktor, reaching toward the ground with the heels of his sneakers, trying to find the balance that he had so clearly lost when he reached up on his toes to reach the other man’s lips. Finding the solid ground beneath him, Yuuri decided that if he couldn’t get what he wanted, he would show Viktor instead, and picked him up, one arm pressed into the lower curve of his ass, the other reaching for a knee to hook around his hips. Viktor got with the program quickly, wrapping his legs around Yuuri as the younger man carried him, both of them breathing moans into each other’s mouths as their clothed erections bumped and brushed against each other with each step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor’s drop onto the bed was less graceful than Yuuri had intended, but it served its purpose as Yuuri reached for the man’s shoulders and pushed him back onto the blankets before straddling his hips and leaning in close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to be so lost to the world that you forget how to speak,” he said quietly, eyes locked on Viktor’s. “I want you to forget about everyone else but me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answering smirk and glittering eyes said it all. “Jealous, are we? I see my Yuuri doesn’t like to share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My Yuuri</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The words were… heady, possessive, thrilling, and entirely too attractive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you not like having to share our time at the rink?” the Russian asked. Had Yuuri reacted to those words? He didn’t mean to. “I admit I didn’t like the idea of the camera crew there, watching you, following you with their eyes while I could not. Oh, my darling, the number of times I wanted to lure you into the locker room and ravish you while they stood out there, unknowing.” Yuuri shivered. “Is that too much? Does it bother you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor sounded like he already knew the answer, but wanted the confirmation anyway. He wanted Yuuri to say it, but the words lodged in his throat. Shaking his head vehemently, Yuuri kissed the corner of Viktor’s mouth before moving to suck on the tender, soft skin behind his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. The world should see how beautiful you are when you dance, when you skate, but I only want you to look like this for me.” There was a small break in Viktor’s voice, a catch that Yuuri could have sworn he imagined. “They can have anything else, but not this. This is just for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, if he had been transported to his own personal heaven where Viktor Nikiforov wanted him all to himself. It was too good to believe, and definitely too good to question, so Yuuri let it be. His only reply was that Viktor was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wearing too many clothes, damn it. This isn’t Russia in December, God, why are you wearing two shirts… </span>
  </em>
  <span>and proceeded to tug Viktor into something resembling a sitting position to start pulling the layers of fabric over his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care where their clothes ended up, and apparently neither did Viktor. Yuuri’s hoodie ended up thrown near the window, his t-shirt hanging precariously from the lamp on the bedside table. Socks, jeans, shoes were all lost to the shadowy pit that seemed to have replaced the carpet and flooring. At some point during their fumbling they had ended up on their knees on the bed, facing each other, and Yuuri took a moment to sit back on his heels, eyes wide open in wonder as he took the sight of Viktor in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a constellation of freckles on one shoulder, a lingering tan line from a sunburn at the beach on his upper arm. A bruise blossomed over his right hip, dipping below the line of his briefs - when had he fallen during practice? What else had he been doing? Yuuri felt overwhelmingly guilty, because he must not have been paying enough attention, and he reached out to gingerly run the pads of his fingers along the fading edges of the blue-ish green mark, a noise of distress caught in his throat. Above it, a small discoloration, a birthmark, sat just under his ribcage, standing out, just a shade or two darker than the rest of Viktor’s skin. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Yuuri lacked the words in any language to tell him that. That didn’t matter though, because Yuuri knew that he could show him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuffling forward, Yuuri reached for Viktor, hand reaching for the unbruised hip while the other wound around the man’s waist, pulling them close. Something resembling a hiss escaped from Viktor, and Yuuri pulled back with concern in his eyes. Viktor shook his head in reply, and reached for Yuuri, fingers tangling in his hair before sliding the palms of his hands down the expanse of Yuuri’s back, dipping just briefly between fabric and skin. It was a light, teasing touch, but that didn’t stop Yuuri from involuntarily jerking forward - a reaction that elicited a moan from the both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The quiet of the moment was broken, and Viktor pulled and twisted so that Yuuri was laying underneath him on the bed, propping himself up on one forearm while his free hand snaked between them to palm at Yuuri’s erection through the soft fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t take you to be a boxer briefs type,” he said with a chuckle. “How do you get away without any lines under your workout gear, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri arched into the touch and gripped Viktor’s biceps tightly. “Dance belt when I skate,” he gasped. “Compression shorts for working o- Are you sure you want to talk about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor’s eyes glittered. “You’re right… I’d much rather listen to the other sounds you can make. For instance-” It put his arm at an odd angle for a moment, but he slipped his hand into the briefs and stroked his palm along Yuuri’s shaft, before running his index finger over the tip. If Yuuri’s keening reaction was anything to go by, this was exactly what Viktor wanted, and Yuuri was more than happy to deliver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised his hips in a silent plea that Viktor understood, because he tugged the fabric down as much as he could, one side and then the other, and stroked Yuuri languidly, relishing in the huffed sighs and moans the touches caused. Between experimental touches or motions already familiar in the short amount of time, Viktor pressed kisses to Yuuri’s jaw, his cheeks, his nose, and eventually his mouth, seeming intent on licking the moans out of his mouth, sucking them out of them as he sucked his tongue, the action so intimate and allusory to other things that Yuuri felt his body flush in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Viktooooor,” he breathed. “Viktor, please. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I need…” Yuuri trailed off, unsure of what exactly he needed other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything,” the other man promised. “Anything, just name it, zoloste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing himself up onto his elbows was enough of a clue that Yuuri wanted to move, and so Viktor sat back to watch him with bright, curious eyes. He couldn’t help but feel that stare burn into him as he shimmied out of his briefs and then shyly reached for Viktors, who was more than happy to comply and took them off with more grace and balance than any one human had a right to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to suck you,” he said quietly, almost afraid of his own voice. Who had he turned in to, to say something like that out loud? It almost felt like an out of body experience, but he was quickly dragged back into the moment when Viktor nodded vehemently. “I- Can you-” Yuuri wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted. It wasn’t something he was used to saying completely, stone cold, brutally sober. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor, it seemed, understood his predicament, because he reached for Yuuri’s shoulder, gently running his fingers from his trapezius down to his elbow and back up. “How about you just put me where you want me. I assure you the answer will be yes to however you want to do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was easier for him to do, and Yuuri sat back, straightening his legs, and reached for Viktor’s hips. He seemed to understand, and shuffled across the bed closer. Yuuri slipped one arm between his torso and Viktor’s legs, and let the other rest on the other man’s hip where it had fallen just a moment ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Viktor’s cock so near his mouth, Yuuri couldn’t help but lick his lips in anticipation. He had fantasized about this since he was old enough to know what he was doing, and looked up at Viktor eagerly. “Can I touch you-” his fingers brushed not far from Viktor’s hole “-here? Is that okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nod. Viktor leaned over to the nightstand and pulled a small bottle of lube from where he had been sitting behind the clock radio, laying it on the bed next to them. “God, yes, please Yuuri. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all the confirmation he needed, and Yuuri strained forward slightly to wrap his lips around the tip of Viktor’s cock and suck. The weight of him was heavy on Yuuri’s tongue, and he reveled in it. Viktor’s hips jerked forward slightly, and he looked down guiltily at Yuuri, who hummed and made a small motion that could be called a nod, before taking more of Viktor in his mouth and running the flat of his tongue along the underside of his cock as he did so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Yuuri’s mind, there wasn’t a whole lot about himself that surprised people, but apparently suck Viktor Nikiforov’s cock all the way to the base, sparse hairs tickling at his nose, was enough to shock the man into a stream of what Yuuri assumed were Russian curses. He hummed in response and Viktor jerked forward again, fucking shallowly into Yuuri’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri,” he rasped. “Yuuri, can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than take his mouth off of Viktor - which was the last thing Yuuri wanted to do at the moment - he took Viktor’s hand and placed it on the headboard behind him, and then grabbed the other and placing it on his head, sliding Viktor’s fingers apart with his own before curling his hand over the other’s in an encouraging gesture. He looked up at Viktor and met his eyes, suddenly lost in the blue-black depths and trying to convey his own need for this without words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the headboard to brace him, Viktor rolled his hips forward slowly, lazily as he cock slid along Yuuri’s tongue and further into the wet heat of his mouth. Each pull back was met with Yuuri hollowing his cheeks and sucking in, saliva and precome mixing where it beaded and gathered at the corners of Yuuri’s mouth. While Viktor found his rhythm, Yuuri reached blindly for the bottle of lube and popped the cap with one hand, dribbling some onto Viktor’s ass, aiming for - and likely slightly missing, but who cared - the fold of skin there. Tossing the bottle aside, he slicked up his fingers and pushed the extra lube down to where he needed it, gently stroking Viktor’s hole before slowly pushing against the puckered skin with one finger, and shivered underneath Viktor at the sensation of being sucked into his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pace that Viktor had set stuttered at the intrusion, especially as Viktor pushed back against Yuuri’s finger, seeking out the small stretch it gave him. Yuuri splayed the rest of his hand against Viktor’s ass and pushed the man forward again until more than just the tip of his cock was in Yuuri’s mouth once more. From there, Yuuri set a slow pace of fucking his finger into Viktor, before adding another finger, pace just slightly faster than what Viktor had set with his cock in Yuuri’s mouth. Viktor moaned at the sensations, gripping Yuuri’s hair tight and pushed a little further into his mouth, seeking more heat and wetness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Yuuri,” he moaned. “So good, you’re so so go-ah-od. Yebena mat'” His voice broke just as Yuuri’s fingertip brushed his prostate, and he stilled for a moment, cock twitching in Yuuri’s mouth as he brushed past the sensitive spot again before pulling back and adding a third finger on the thrust in again. Heavy breathing punctuated the stillness of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to last,” Viktor laughed weakly. “You’d better slow down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, at least, warranted an actual answer, and Yuuri pulled back. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you, Viktor. I want you to come in my mouth. You’re so hot like this I can’t stand it. Don’t make me beg for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Removing his hand from Yuuri’s hair, he caressed the man’s cheek. “For tonight, fine. But I do believe seeing you beg would be unforgettable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was something Yuuri wasn’t prepared to deal with, so he focused on the man in front of him instead. Viktor was gorgeous, looming above Yuuri with hair mussed and in his face, eyes nearly black in the dim light of the room. Yuuri wanted to take him apart, to make him feel good - better than good, amazing. His own cock twitched in interest at the thought, and he wondered idly if he could get off by just pleasuring Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought was pushed away when Viktor pushed past his lips again, rocking into him faster as Yuuri stretched and scissored his fingers inside Viktor, reaching for his prostate when he could and thoroughly enjoying the bitten off moans and raspy curses when he did so. The tension and shaking in Viktor’s thighs told Yuuri he was doing something right and he moved his fingers faster, sliding in and out of Viktor with wet squelching sounds that seemed obscenely loud in the room - obscene and beautiful and terribly arousing. With his legs laid out on the bed Yuuri had no leverage with which to thrust, and nothing to thrust against, but it didn’t stop his hips from jerking and he was desperate for release. The pleasure-pain of a building orgasm with no outlet was going to drive him mad, but not until he got Viktor off first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, though, Viktor’s hips were stuttering and jerking out of rhythm and he came with a shout down Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri fucked his fingers into Viktor through the orgasm, slowing his pace as the other man came back to reality, eventually slipping them out Yuuri coughing slightly as Viktor pulled back before listing to the side and collapsing next to Yuuri. They were both breathing heavily, Yuuri’s hips occasionally twitching to one side or another to find relief for his still-hard cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought,” he said between breaths, “There would be more Russian.” This was followed by a weak laugh from both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consider me speechless in any language,” Viktor said slowly, almost slurring his words from the sudden tiredness. “But what about you, moya lyubov'? I want to make you feel good too.” Yuuri hummed noncommittally. “Give me five minutes, hmm? Let me catch my breath at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes turned into a shower, which turned into Yuuri fucking Viktor’s thighs, water and soap and dripping lube mixing together in a slipper mixture that made Yuuri come embarrassingly quickly, one arm wrapped around Viktor’s waist while the other braced against the wall in front of them and his forehead pressed lightly to Viktor’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They toweled each other off drowsily and collapsed onto the bed in a pile, blankets and towels draped over them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ten minutes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Viktor had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just stay for a little while before you have to go back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curled into Viktor’s side, Yuuri felt himself drift off. They needed an alarm of some kind, and he raised his head slightly to ask, “Viktor?” however, the rest of the question escaped him and Viktor pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered something that only became clear just as Yuuri was drifting off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vitya. Please, my Yuuri. Call me Vitya. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let me sleep too late, Vitya. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri wasn’t sure if he said the words out loud, he was so tired. The line between wakefulness and dreaming was already heavily blurred and he wasn’t quite sure where he was. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ooooh boy wait until phichit hears about this<br/>disclaimer that it's been literal years since i wrote smut so don't judge<br/>and any russian comes from google translate and various 'learn how to curse in russian' websites so if it's wrong don't shoot the messenger</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yuuri has never, really, done the walk of shame. For the most part, Phichit was the type to stay out until dawn or go home with a friend to keep partying, so if Yuuri was ever drunk enough to bring someone home, he had the apartment to himself. That, of course, wasn’t the case when he woke up at three in the morning, jolting awake next to Viktor, all thoughts of ‘We should set an alarm’ and ‘I can’t stay too late’ long gone out the proverbial window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching for his phone beside the bed, Yuuri saw there were several missed calls and voicemails from Phichit. There was no time for him to wake Viktor up or explain anything, so he scribbled out a note and threw on his clothes, determined to get home before Phichit decided to call the cops, or worse, Celestino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stumbling through the door just after three thirty in the morning, Yuuri came to an abrupt halt when he saw Phichit sitting at the little desk, chair swiveled around to face him. It was oddly reminiscent of the time that Phichit insisted they watch The Godfather, and then proceeded to act like a mob boss for a week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, buddy,” Phichit said thinly. “You want to tell you </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend in the whole wide world </span>
  </em>
  <span>what kept you out until this late?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri panicked, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Skating!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit stood and walked slowly across the room, eyes narrowing. “Skating huh? I didn’t realize skating smelled like sweaty cologne after-smell, or left very specifically shaped bruises on the side of your neck. Which jump did you fall on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no point in lying to Phichit at this point, and Yuuri sank down onto the bed, head in his hands. “I’m sorry, okay? I forgot to text you, I broke the friend code and wandered off without letting you know I was safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down next to him, Phichit grinned. “I kind of figured that. Your Find My Phone was turned on, so when I saw you were at a hotel I figured you finally got your mind off of your Viktor hero worship long enough to get some dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri blushed, and made a squeaking noise he was sure only dogs could hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooorrrrrr,” Phichit dragged the word out. “You finally got over yourself and got some Russian ass. It was that, wasn't it?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You slept with Living Legend Viktor Nikiforov, who has had literal puppy dog eyes for you since the promo event in New York, and you finally did something about it!” His best friend bounced on the edge of the bed and punched him lightly in the arm repeatedly. “Well? How was it? C’mon, don’t hold out. You know I won’t out you to TMZ or anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The squeaking continued, which was apparently the third language Yuuri was now fluent in. Hyperventilating might have been the fourth if Phichit hadn’t nudged Yuuri and reminded him that brains needed oxygen to function. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....no one can know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That stopped his friend dead in his tracks. “I’m sorry, what? Is Nikiforov trying to treat you like his dirty little secret? I swear, Yuuri, I will cut that asshole with my skates if he-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shook his head quickly. “That’s not it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole story spilled out of him then, once the dam of silence had been broken. How the show wanted a rivalry, but no one believed in him. How they were purposefully putting him and Viktor against each other, eventually telling the two of them that it was good for ratings. Everyone knew that Viktor was here to try and increase his exposure and opportunities for the day he did eventually retire, and Yuuri couldn’t mess that up! He told Phichit about going to the beach the week he had gone back to Thailand, and the worries and the fears that had followed him, as well as the new ones that had chased him back to Los Angeles. The practices, the team dance debacle, skating together, skating </span>
  <em>
    <span>for Viktor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the camera crew following them, watching them like hawks. The feeling that he couldn’t so much as look at Viktor without giving away how much he- Well, how much he felt. The words flowed out of him, hardly stopping to give him room to breathe, and it felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to finally tell his best friend, the one person who knew him better than his own family, what had been going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit sat there in silence, an unusual approach for him, for several minutes before looking at Yuuri angrily. “Well fuck her, and not in the good way. That producer is a bitch if she thinks that you can’t wipe the floor with Viktor any day of the week, especially dancing! You’ve spent more time training in dance styles than anyone else I know. Of course you can beat him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sad smile, Yuuri shook his head. “It’s not just her, Peach. Everyone knows Viktor is the best in the sport, so why shouldn’t he dominate anything else he tries? I’ve wanted nothing more than to be on the same level as him - and not just for me to know it, or for him to know it, but for the world to acknowledge that I have just as much skill as he does. And no one believes that. She’s just the latest in a long line, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look Phichit gives him this time is familiar - the look of a best friend long used to his lack of ability to see anything worth… well, worth anything. His family seemed to take it as playing down his achievements in that very ‘I am going to achieve better and bring honor and pride to this family’ way that was so ingrained in his upbringing, while Mari saw it as self-deprecating humor. Even Celestino didn’t really know what to do with it beyond constantly reassuring Yuuri that what he did was fine, or good. Phichit was the first person to really see that Yuuri didn’t actually recognize his own achievements most of the time. There was always something else to reach for, always another marker to meet, and he didn’t realize that he could turn around and look at everything he had done with pride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh. We are not doing this today. Not only am I too tired for this shit, but you are too old for this shit, Yuuri. The literal best man in this sport, and according to you the hottest man - hey, he’s not my type! - is going gaga over you. You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>invited </span>
  </em>
  <span>to compete on an American television show that literally millions watch. You have gotten perfect scores on that show more than once. So what if one jealous psycho is trying to tear you down? Does anyone important believe her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, it was clear that Phichit was waiting for an answer. Anyone important meant Phichit, Celestino, his family, Yuuko and Nishigori, and now Viktor. And none of them either did or would believe her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit threw his hands in the air. “Then alright! Stop letting her get you down and bask in the glow of glorious sex with a hot Russian! Which, by the way, is more than I’ve gotten in the last six months so I don’t wanna hear you complain when you’re sore tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri turned bright pink at that, and was pretty sure his ears were going to burn off. “It wasn’t- We didn’t- Oh, shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shut up. And get some sleep, okay? I love you, but I love you slightly less at three in the morning after I almost reported you missing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Yuuri?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peach… it’s four in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can it wait?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sighed. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I don’t know what to call it, but if feeling like this is love, then I would definitely be happy to say that I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] Yuuri are you alright?</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] I just woke up and you’re gone and I don’t know what happened I’m sorry if I did something wrong</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] Yuuri where are you? Did you make it back to your hotel okay?</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] I wish you could have stayed the night</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] If you couldn’t stay couldn’t you at least leave me a note?</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] The least you could have done is left a note you know</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] I wouldn’t have ignored it like you did in Sochi</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] Wait I’m sorry that was mean</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>[text to: Yuuri] How do you delete a text? Yuuri, please I hope you call me before you see this</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SOCHIIIIIIIII. oh dearie me, that's going to be fun</p><p>and at least now phichit knows. that's got to be better, right? right?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For about two months, Phichit had been obsessed with learning everything he could about all of the music genres available to them in Detroit without having to illegally download anything, or pay for music on iTunes. Through this, they had discovered a band called We The Kings that sang a song that said “Friday is forever”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Friday was forever, Saturdays were for unmitigated panic and regretting every single life choice - and not in the usual way that Yuuri might have after going out Friday night with Phichit. More like in the ‘what the fuck did I do and why is Viktor talking about Sochi, a.k.a. The Lowest Point of My Life and Career™ like he knew me then?’ - at least, that was the decision after looking at his phone for the first time that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After finally crawling out of bed at noon and into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Yuuri felt slightly more human by the time he had looked at his phone, screeched at it, threw the phone across the room and immediately went to take a bath - one of his default anxiety reactions after growing up at an onsen. Hot baths might not cure everything, but they made it easier to think. Phichit had looked at him like he had grown a second head, but had grabbed the phone and unlocked it (of course he knew the password) and let out a long, low whistle that essentially said ‘holy shit’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy shit was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy shit was upgraded to ‘Abort abort end mission </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ when Phichit started talking… But there was no one in the room. Yuuri heard Viktor’s name and sank under the water for as long as he could hold his breath - Viktor had called, Phichit had answered, Phichit knew everything, and Phichit was going to… Was going to what, exactly? Give Viktor the shovel talk? Ask him about Sochi? Yuuri had only talked to his friend about Sochi once, and had flatly refused to talk about it since then. He couldn’t. It was too raw and painful, and then it felt like picking at an old scab - if he left it alone surely it would be better one day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know how long they were on the phone, or what they were talking about. After hearing the balcony door slide, he gave up on trying, and instead focused on trying to contain the feeling of wanting to peel his own skin off, find a place more comfortable to hide than in his own body. He hated that feeling, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door finally broke him out of his uncomfortable reverie. “Yuuri? Hey, uh, Viktor called. He sounded pretty upset about things, and said he wants to come talk to you. I couldn’t really stop him from saying he was going to, but I’ll slam the door in his face if you want me to, okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re okay, right? You’re not like, a drowned prune or anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sighed. “I’m here, Peach. I’ll… I’ll talk to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Viktor had the courtesy to break up with him in person, if that’s what he was going to do. Could you break up with someone you weren’t publicly together with? He supposed it was time to find out. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat on the end of the bed, as far away as they could be while still sitting on the same surface. Phichit had let Viktor in and made an excuse about going to get lunch, which Yuuri only paid half-attention to. There had been silence since then, neither of them knowing what to say first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri figured he might as well rip the bandaid off. “I don’t know what you were talking about when you said you left a note for me in Sochi. You didn’t even know I existed then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A strangled noise came from Viktor, and it made Yuuri’s stomach swoop with anxiety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you say that? You changed my life there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With my wipeout of a free skate? Yeah, I’m sure I set a new low for the figure skating community that day,” he said with a hollow laugh. “Must have made everyone’s wins seem so much more impressive, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor looked up sharply, the action catching Yuuri’s peripheral vision. “No, of course not. Everyone has bad days - we talked about that. I meant the banquet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t what Yuuri was expecting. “I… I didn’t stay at the banquet for more than thirty minutes. We didn’t even talk there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean we didn’t talk? Of course we did. Well, not that there was much actual talking going on, not with words. Or, not with words in English. The way you danced… that was a language all its own. I never-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t dance together,” Yuuri said sharply. “I went to the banquet, had some champagne, escaped Celestino’s attention, and left. I woke up with a hell of a hangover, but I know that’s what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what happened,” the older man replied quietly. “Although… that does explain some things. Like you ignoring the note that I left for you - if you were so hungover that you didn’t see it, I suppose that wasn’t a fair accusation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked at him, waiting for more of an explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you didn’t do well when you skated. And you looked so upset when you got to the banquet,” Viktor said slowly. “But you didn’t leave early. You kept drinking and drinking - I’m surprised you coach didn’t notice. Then again, he’s known for his own alcohol-related antics, so he might have been distracted. I don’t know how much you had to drink, but there was a collection of glasses on your table - ten or so? Maybe more, I don’t know. And then I saw you with a bottle later when you were dancing. You challenged Yura to a dance off, pole danced with Chris - which was spectacular by the way - and even… even danced with me. And that was the most alive I had felt in I don’t know how long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crumpling over, Yuuri held his head in his hands. That sounded like something he would do… Phichit had plenty of evidence over the years of his drunken antics, and it made sense that he would want to drink and forget the Grand Prix. He should have known better though! He knew what he was like as a drunk, and let himself get to that point again and again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have pictures, if you’d like to see?” Viktor asked gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shot up and looked at him with wide eyes. “No, no nononono please no,” he whispered. “Please, it’s already embarrassing enough that I did something like that. I don’t need to be reminded that I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you made the banquet the most fun I’d had since I was allowed to start drinking, charmed everyone in sight, smashed Yura at a dance off and made me-” Viktor seemed to choke on the end of that sentence, eyes wide. Composing himself he continued, “the happiest that I had been in a long time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, that wasn’t fair, and Yuuri told him so. “I wouldn’t regret making you happy,” he muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I’m proud of the rest of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...So what did you mean about a note?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor sighed, raking his hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your coach was nowhere in sight and Chris seemed like he would have been happy to keep dancing with you no matter how drunk you were, but you were fading fast and I had to get you out of there. I managed to get you mostly back into your clothes and up to your room.” He smiled wryly. “You did ask me to stay and you were very… persuasive, but I didn’t want you to regret anything in the morning. Not to mention you were too drunk to really consent to anything. I didn’t know what to do next, so I wrote out a note with my phone number and asked you to call me, and put it in the pocket of your suit pants so it wouldn’t get lost. And… you never did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heartbreak and sadness was evident in his voice, and Yuuri’s stomach swooped with guilt. How much had he missed out on by drinking that much? But not finding that note because he-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Viktor,” he gasped. “I know what happened to the note. I was so hungover the next morning that I just… threw everything in my suitcase, threw on my jeans and a sweater and went back to Detroit. I didn’t find the note because I dumped my suit and shirt into a bag and took it to the dry cleaners without looking. Everything smelled like booze so badly that I didn’t want to deal with it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had been more careful, if he hadn’t been drunk, if he hadn’t been so upset over Vicchan. There were so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>ifs </span>
  </em>
  <span>that could have changed everything in his world and Yuuri’s brow furrowed as he started to contemplate just how badly he had screwed up. Viktor had every right to be upset at him even though-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! I left you a note! I know I did!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man looked at him skeptically. “Well then where did you leave it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And wasn’t that the million dollar question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri blushed. “I have no idea. I was panicked because Phichit was panicked and I wrote out a note and changed and left. I didn’t want him calling the cops to look for me, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was Viktor’s turn to sigh and bury his face in his hands. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are, but haven’t we agreed on that before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling ruefully, Viktor said, “Yes, probably, and I get the feeling we’ll be agreeing on that statement for a long time. Now, it’s a few days until filming- I do believe we have a practice scheduled for today. Are you… Will you come with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Agreeing on that statement for a long time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Did that mean what Yuuri thought it meant? What he wanted it to mean? After everything, he felt afraid to ask, worried that he might shatter to fragile peace that they had built in the wake of so many problems. Nodding, he pushed himself up to standing and looked around the room. “Yeah, let me get my gear and then we can go get yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan, zoloste.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Found it!” Viktor hollered from the room. Yuuri had no problem hearing him from where he was in the bathroom changing, and said so with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, do I have to say I told you so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a bark of laughter. “Yuuri - you know you wrote this in Japanese right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Backstage, Yuuri, Viktor, Peta, and Julianne held hands in a small circle. No one spoke, but they didn’t need to. Everything was ready - maybe it wasn’t perfect, but this was at least the calmest Yuuri had been about a performance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That could have been because of the costume. In his black pants and blue shirt, it almost felt like something he would practice in. There wasn’t a sequin or a sparkle in sight, and his gloves were missing, but it was easy to pretend that he was just standing there waiting for the ice to clear for practice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before this week though, he had never practiced with Viktor. Not really. And as the Russian stood there in black pants and a dark red v-neck shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, Yuuri had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to go back to how things were, in any sense. This week felt like a turning point. He knew about Sochi now, even if it was secondhand. He knew that Viktor had seen him at his absolute worst - even if they didn’t talk about how he got to that point - and was determined to stick around anyway. And he knew that while their dance wouldn’t be anything like their skate, it was still going to be amazing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom’s voice broke through the chatter and noise as they came back from a commercial break. “We have a special video introduction for this next team. Their video is so good it might put me out of a job! Let’s go to the screens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is probably the most challenging team dance, technically speaking, that I think we’ve put together. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Julianne’s voice played and Yuuri looked at her with confusion. This wasn’t their usual set up. What was she doing? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuuri and Viktor are so skilled, not to say that other competitors I’ve worked with aren’t! That’s not it. It’s just that the focus for them has to be on more technical aspects - sometimes you have to remind your partner that it isn’t just about the steps, and that they need to perform too, but these two just blew me away this week. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Agreed</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was Peta? </span>
  <b>
    <em>We spent the first few days working with the rest of the pros for the opening number, and when we finally got into the studio with Viktor and Yuuri, you couldn’t stop Viktor from jumping up and down! They had been spending their time skating for their workouts and they had something that they wanted us to use for a routine, but it was a skate. When I saw it, I thought it might have been Viktor’s, you know? You can’t research the man without knowing that he does his own choreography. But it was Yuuri! He had been working on this program and when Viktor saw it he knew that it was perfect for this, so they showed us the video, right? And oh my god, it was amazing. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think we’ve ever translated choreography from another artistic field into a dance! It was a really cool challenge, and while I’m excited for the audience to see this version, I think they deserve to see the skate too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh no. Oh god… They were going to show the footage from when the video crew had followed them to the rink, weren’t they? Yuuri looked at Viktor with wide eyes, panic making him grip the other man’s hand harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic that, it seemed, was for nothing. On the small screen that they could see, a shaky video started to play. Yuuri and Viktor were messing around, skating in circles and laughing as one occasionally slipped into a step sequence or a simple jump. The view turned and it showed Julianne and Peta trying to hide behind… something… and they both made shushing motions before flipping the camera view around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuri!” God the way Viktor sounded when he said his name… While he was thrilled, Yuuri almost didn’t want to share that. No one needed to hear that, it was just for him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor </span>
  </em>
  <span>was just his. “We need to practice again. Start the music!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri laughed as he skated toward the speaker that was set up on the boards. Fiddling with his phone, he queued up the song before History Maker, pulling up the last fifteen seconds or so to give himself time to skate back to Viktor and find his starting position. Soon enough, the song started to play and they began to </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pa3IsQsx2UU">
    <span>move</span>
  </a>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that what they looked like on the ice? Yuuri stared at the screen wide-eyed as he watched them glide and turn, jump and spin and… He looked like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>belonged</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No matter how off-balance he felt on the ice, how clunky or disjointed his moves had felt, Yuuri was skating with Viktor and they looked if not the same then at least coordinated. Viktor’s jumps were higher, tighter, and the landings cleaner, but Yuuri’s spins were faster and more centered. Was that what it really looked like when they were on the ice together?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For the few short minutes that they skated on screen, Yuuri felt like maybe, possibly, there was the smallest chance that he actually belonged there, and that he could meet Viktor where he was, on his level. Maybe he had finally gotten where he’d wanted to since he was 12. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now-” Erin’s voice startled him and Julianne pulled him toward the stage. “Our last team for the night, Yuuki Katsuki and his partner Julianne Hough, and Viktor Nikiforov and his partner Peta Murgatroyd!”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that Phichit knew about the two of them, Yuuri had no problem going back to Viktor’s hotel after the show. Viktor had given him a key days ago, and since he was held up by reporters who wanted to know about his skating (and honestly, when didn’t they) he slipped into the room first. All evening after the scores had come in, and they had wrapped up the show, Yuuri had been thinking about a different performance, based on a different skating program, and what Viktor had said about it later. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You do, though. I saw your performance tonight,” Viktor said frankly. “You danced about your first skating event, you made music with your movements. You danced like I skate, like you were shouting a message to the world and dared them to ignore you. You did all of that, and looked me right in the eyes at the end of it, almost like a challenge or a question. What were you asking me, Yuuri?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do you see me now? Do you see that I know you? I could be closer to you than anyone if you would let me. Won’t you? Please? Please let me get close to you and stay there.</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still sitting there thinking about that when Viktor came in and slid onto the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sighed. “A while ago you asked me about the dance I did about my first skating program. You said I was asking you something and you wanted to know what it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor hummed. “I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m ready to answer you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shifting out of Viktor’s arms, he turned to face him. Yuuri knew that he needed to see Viktor, to see his reaction when he said this, because even though they had dealt with Sochi and so many other things, this was still terrifying and he wanted to see Viktor’s reaction. He had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> as soon as he could how things were going to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath. “I… I wanted you to see me. To see me skate and see </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as a person. I watch your programs and your interviews and anything I can, no matter the language, and I feel like what you’re thinking and what you’re saying are different. I don’t know if anyone else sees that but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do. I see you, Viktor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I just want to be close to you, and say there. And to let you know that I see these things, and I see you, and- Are you crying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was. Viktor Nikiforov was crying, and he looked unfairly beautiful while doing so. Even when he sniffled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to think that I needed to be someone else on the ice, all the time even,” Viktor said quietly. “No one wanted this boy who spent all his time skating and doing nothing else, and so I had to become this person that people wanted. If I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t keep skating. I reinvented myself over and over again, every year becoming something different and farther away than who I was. I felt like no one could look at me and see that there was a difference. And here you are, watching for that.” He sniffled again, wiping away tears. And I never thought I would be able to talk to anyone but Makkachin about it, but here you are. You’re a miracle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m just me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that is a beautiful person to be. I want you to stay, too. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at their hands, where their fingers were tangled together on the bedspread. “I’d like that too,” he said quietly. “That would be nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good thing that he’d already sent Phichit a text saying that he would meet him for breakfast, and that he wouldn’t be coming back tonight. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i love how in canon these boys go from not being able to communicate (yuuri re: his "shortcomings") to just blurting everything out. and so of course, they do that here too</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For Sol, who I promised those three little words to, but in a way that she wouldn't hate.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Two weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two weeks of peaceful practices, performances, lazy middle-of-the-night sex and morning cuddles huddled under blankets should have been a sign, in retrospect. Everything had been fine as they geared up for the final round of shows. They had settled into a routine, even though Viktor noted that the internet said the judges underscored Yuuri every time he opened Twitter or Instagram, although whenever asked about it Viktor was strangely cagey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe fine wasn’t the right word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren’t any disasters, at least. They practiced separately, they practiced the group numbers and tried to avoid looking like (to quote Phichit) sappy idiots, they hid out in Viktor’s hotel room and even took a drive a few hours out of town once just to go to dinner. The novelty of the secrecy was starting to wear off, and was quickly being replaced by the feeling of straining, itching for it to be over, as well as the fear of what </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>happen when it was over. Yuuri didn’t know if he was going to return to Detroit or go home, and Viktor would surely go back to Russia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things weren’t fine. They weren’t awful, but they weren’t fine. They were manageable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things were not-awful-maybe-okay-definitely-manageable until TMZ made them none of those things, as TMZ tended to do in Phichit and Leo’s “expert” opinions - at least according to the group chat that Yuuri found when he left practice one day. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] hey so</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] i just wanna start this with tmz can suck it and everyone knows they’re trash</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Phichit] the worst trash, of course</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text to: group chat] do i want to know?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] probably not but you should anyway</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] they have “leaked footage” of you and viktor looking pretty uh</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pretty what? Yuuri was sure that they hadn’t been seen anywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] frosty. Like you guys hate each other or something</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Phichit] which we (mostly me, but now Leo) know is categorically untrue</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text to: group chat] you wanna tell me what’s going on?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] tmz.com/news/celebs/nikiforov-and-katsuki-rivalry-boils-over</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>[text from: Leo] they’re saying that you guys are acting nice for the show but you hate each other and like, people are doing those shadow interview things with changed voices saying how much you two really ignore each other and you’re attention hos or something</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Could they not go one month - hell, half a month - without a problem? Without drama? If Yuuri had still been in Detroit, he- Well, actually, none of this would have been happening if he was still in Detroit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri had been on his way to Viktor’s hotel room, thinking of the large bathtub and the hot water he could relax in before his phone had blown up, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea anymore. Viktor hadn’t given him any reason to doubt that they would deal with whatever was happening together, but Yuuri did have to wonder if it was something he would want to deal with right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot bath in his future was too tempting, though, and so he picked up his pace and kept going. They could talk about it or not, and he would let Viktor take the lead on that one. The Week 9 show was almost in sight, and he just wanted to make it there and hopefully go to the semi-final without anything impacting his performance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone started buzzing and kept buzzing as he entered the room and dropped his bag by his side - holy shit, he had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>side of the bed</span>
  </em>
  <span> where Viktor slept - and threw his phone onto his pillow before heading toward the bathroom. It was probably Viktor sending him dog pictures, or the Leo and Phichit chat continuing to trash TMZ. It could wait, whatever it was. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Head lolling against the side of the tub, Yuuri was dimly aware of the door opening and Viktor trying - and failing - to correctly pronounce “Tadaima!” as he walked in the door. Half asleep in the steamy warmth of the tub, he didn’t quite have the energy to answer, sure that Viktor would find him soon enough. It was no hot spring, but the bath was better than anything else he could imagine at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Viktor didn’t come into the bathroom, and it didn’t even sound like he had made it to the bedroom of the suite. When the water began to chill enough that it was uncomfortable Yuuri forced himself out and into a pair of Viktor’s sweatpants and his old Michigan State sweatshirt before going in search of his-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not his boyfriend. The thought was weighty and sour in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor was on the couch tapping on his phone screen rapidly - probably texting Chris. He smiled up at Yuuri, even if it was a little distracted and distant, and Yuuri reached to card his fingers through the older man’s hair while he reached for the television remote. They didn’t watch a lot of regular television but they liked the movie channels, and with no previous plans Yuuri sort of assumed that they would stay in and watch something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have remembered what his English teacher had taught him about assuming - it made an ass out of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The television flicked on, the screen flooding with color. It was on a random channel that he figured Viktor had been watching earlier but was now… TMZ. Of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Man, did you hear about what’s going on with ABC? They’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel this time with Dancing With The Stars…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The remote cut into Yuuri’s fingers as his grip tightened. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously. When Ryan Lochte is somewhere you know that they’re at the end of their rope. And figure skating? What about good old-fashioned American football stars? C’mon, we have to have plenty of those!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, but get this. There’s these two skaters right? One of them hasn’t won anything since he was a kid - </span>
  </em>
  <span>that wasn’t true. It wasn’t. But it was hard to remember when Yuuri could hardly think or breathe - </span>
  <em>
    <span>and the other is a literal legend in the sport. Dude’s won everything the last four years or something. And these people want us to think that they’re actually rivals? You’d have an easier time convincing me that a frog can compete against Michael Phelps. Now there’s a guy that we should be seeing in competitions right now-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound cut off with a click. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri looked up and saw Viktor standing by the television, head bowed and hair covering his eyes. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even felt the couch move when Viktor had stood up, and for a moment Yuuri was afraid of what he might do or say. Or what </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viktor </span>
  </em>
  <span>might do or say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only a matter of time - it always had been. The whole world knew that he wasn’t on the same level as Viktor and didn’t deserve to be around him, skating or no. He thought that he would be able to keep this, to keep him, but there was just reminder after reminder that nothing was ever going to work out if they tried to be like they were now while also competing. The competition would always separate them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The competition would always separate them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A lightbulb went off in Yuuri’s head. He was going to quit skating anyway right? He still hadn’t given Celestino an answer about coming back to Detroit for after the show, and he had the money for a ticket home if that was what he decided… Why not just make things easy and remove the obstacle, the comparison that made everyone look down on him, judge him for even existing in the same sport as Viktor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Viktor,” he breathed. “Let’s end this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri stood up and glared at the other man. “No? You mean you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be rivals?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do- what?” Viktor sputtered, hands waving ineffectively as if he was trying to catch the words and throw them back at Yuuri. “Wait. What do you mean rivals? I thought you meant us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he didn’t mean the two of them. Skating wouldn’t last forever. The show wouldn’t last forever. Yuuri didn’t know if this, whatever it was, would last forever too, but it was hopefully going to last longer than the next few weeks, so why not try and save what he could?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I don’t want to stop seeing you, why the hell would you think that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor looked at Yuuri in wide eyed disbelief before practically collapsing onto the couch. “Yuuri for someone who has lived in America for five years, your grasp of connotation in language is awful. When someone says let’s end this it’s a breakup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s not! I just can’t stand being your rival anymore. Not like this. Not here. I only ever wanted to be your equal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri sat down next to Viktor and turned to face him, twisting to try and look the other man in the eye. “This competition… Skating… I’m not good enough. Not here, not on the ice. I’ve never been good enough to be around you - I’ve never even gotten into the same flight for warm ups! And I feel like all it does is remind me that I can’t keep up. And outside of that? God, I want to. I want to be able to go out to lunch with you and not care who sees. Do you know how big of a deal that is for me? To not care? You do that for me. To me. I want to skate with you in Detroit or Hasetsu or St. Petersburg and not obsess over if Phichit or the triplets or one of your rinkmates has their phone out I want-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mila.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuuri’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Huh? I don’t want Mila. I want-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor interrupted him once more. “Mila. She would be the one with her phone out. Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to pressure you and I will take whatever I can get of this. We still need to have a conversation about how you don’t believe that you’re good enough when you have stamina that could run me into the ground and step sequences that make me weep from joy, but that’s a problem for another time. And hopefully many more times, because I never want to stop encouraging you or ever stop telling you how wonderful you are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two years ago if you had asked me, I would say Yakov is my family. My rinkmates are my annoying cousins. And they still are, but now my family includes you and I know how I want you but I feel like I don’t know how you want me. What do you want me to be to you? A brother? A friend? A father figure? A lover?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no no!” Yuuri choked on his words in an effort to get them out. “God, Viktor, just- Just be you. I’ve looked up to you since I was twelve. I’ve wanted your attention, your eyes on me, since I started in the Senior division. And now- I don’t have words for this. I don’t think there are the right words in Japanese. But I know that I don’t want to let go of you. I’ll leave skating, I was already goi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the sentence came out muffled as Yuuri tried to speak against Viktor’s hand that was suddenly covering his mouth. “If you try and finish that sentence, Yuuri Katsuki, we will have words,” Viktor glowered. “You are not leaving skating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Contrary to Phichit’s belief, Yuuri knew when to pick his battles. And right now, there was something more important than his impending retirement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do we do about the show?” he asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viktor scooted closer to him and wrapped his arms around Yuuri, one hand on the nape of his neck while the other played with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know, solnyshko. It’s almost over though. Why don’t we make our decisions after the final, and see what happens then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t a solution. But it was a peace offering, a way to deal with the worst of it later when they felt more stable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. After the final then.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>LOLOLOLOL I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WEEK OF THE SHOW WE ARE IN ANY MORE TIME IS MEANINGLESS JUST FEELS</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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